


All Those Familiar Ghosts

by theonsfavouritetoy



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Davos is a gift, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Jon's last name here is Stark, M/M, Past Abuse, Past Relationship(s), Ramsay is His Own Warning, Slow Burn, The Cat lives I swear!, Yorkshire, a lot of Wuthering Heights references, at least in my terms, quite angsty at times, read all notes please, warnings will be in notes, which feels weird
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-01-14 22:00:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 64,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18485221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theonsfavouritetoy/pseuds/theonsfavouritetoy
Summary: Ghostnoun1. the spirit of a dead person, sometimes represented as a pale, almost transparent image of that person that some people believe appears to people who are alive2. a memory, usually of something or someone bad3. a  mere   shadow  or  semblance;  a  traceHe's a ghost of his former self





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The Pub AU is here!!!
> 
> Originally I meant to wait until I had finished writing every last word of it, but. With the strain of GoT and the week-long waits between episodes I really, really need something to distract me. The day before the first episode of Season Eight aired I was so nervous I wrote two chapters of this XD
> 
> The story is mapped out and halfway done, and although I cannot promise I won't panic inbetween (readers of the Vamp AU will remember :p), it'll be finished long before I run out of chapters to post. So far I'm set on updating every Thursday. 
> 
> A big thank you, as always, to @half_life *waves*  
> Your help is so much appreciated I can't even tell you. 
> 
> A few things to the story itself:  
> It came to mind last November when I was in Yorkshire and saw a big ass castle named Castle Bolton. I took the name and the county, but the rest is pure fiction. There are several pubs named like the one in the story all over England. Thornby is fictional too, a representation of so many tiny Yorkshire villages I drove through. 
> 
> And then there's Wuthering Heights. Of course when being in Yorkshire one has to go to Haworth and visit the Bronte Parsonage and see the moors Emily wandered when creating one of the maddest lovehateobsession stories of all time. And somehow Heathcliff and Ramsay started to look the same.
> 
> It's not essential to have read Wuthering Heights - can't hurt to read the Wikipedia summary ^^'

**Prologue**

_“You cannot be serious.”_

_“I’m perfectly serious, Theon. I want you out by the end of the week.”_

_“I told you I’m sorry a million times now. Come on, man! I was drunk, I wasn’t in a right mind, I was… I was stupid.”_

_“I know. And I know you’re sorry, but saying it a million times doesn’t undo it. It happened, and I have to get over it on my terms, in my own time.”_

_“I… don’t have anywhere to go. You know that.”_

_“What about Ash? Can’t you crash at hers?”_

_“She’s out of the country. Has rented her flat.”_

_“I told you where you can go. You didn’t want to. Last option is, you rent your own flat. Or stay in a hotel for all I care right now.”_

_“Yes, go to Thornby and have your cousin punch my head off to avenge you.”_

_“I haven’t told Jon. He’s not… and if I had he wouldn’t care.”_

_“You seriously haven’t told him?”_

_“No, Theon, I haven’t. It’s hard enough as it is, my best friend doing something like this to me. I don’t feel the need to tell everyone I know, alright?”_

_“He would say, told you so.”_

_“I doubt that.”_

_“Still, what would I do up there? It’s just moors and sheep and ugly people.”_

_“Jon needs help. Now’s just the season for hiking and an extra pair of hands would be very welcome.”_

_“So I’m to scrub toilets and dishes for the old Horseface? Think again.”_

_“Do it how you want. Just make sure to be gone by the end of the week, and leave your keys.”_

_“What about my stuff?”_

_“I don’t c-- Fine, leave your stuff. You can get it once you have a permanent home somewhere.”_

_“Robb.”_

_“I can’t, Theon. I cannot even look at you right now.”_

_“I’m sorry. I really am. I would never do this to you ever again. You have to believe me.”_

_“Know what, I actually do. Believe you. But I need some time, Theon. It still hurts like a fucking bitch.”_

_“I’m so sorry. I’m - I’d do anything. Even go to help Horseface, if that’s what you want.”_

_“Wouldn’t hurt you, to help someone else for once.”_

_“You know I love you, right?”_

_“I know. Look, I’m not saying - it’s not - you’re like a brother to me. It wouldn’t hurt so fucking much if I didn’t love you. But I really need you to leave.”_

_“Then I’ll go.”_

_“Thanks. Don’t forget to pack an umbrella.”_

**Chapter One**

And of fucking course he forgot the fucking umbrella, which is why he’s fucking soaked. The fucking station is in the middle of fucking nowhere and fucking Horseface hasn’t shown his long face to pick Theon up like he promised Robb he would. Cursing, Theon sets down the carrier for a moment and crouches to peer inside. Loki hasn’t made a noise for at least thirty minutes and Theon’s afraid he might’ve drowned.

Fortunately he hasn’t, but he’s turned his face away from the opening and is now resolutely ignoring all of Theon’s attempts to comfort him. Theon straightens with a sigh. Fucking great. The water is running from his hair into his collar, his shoes squelch with every step and he’s reasonably sure he hasn’t been this thoroughly wet ever before in his entire life - not even when taking a bath.

He still has about a mile to walk, his phone shows no reception, his rucksack is bloody heavy, and now Loki is pissed with him for something that isn’t even Theon’s fault. He can’t control the weather after all. This, Theon knows, will result in at least a week of silent treatment, followed by another week of nasty punishment before he can try to get back in Loki’s good books with a plate of Unagi. If there’s even such a thing as sushi in this dump.

Finally he reaches the village centre, taking a moment to look around. He’s already wet, it can’t get much worse. A little church, no tower, just a funny little belfry. A tiny grocery store, a sweetshop, a hairdresser’s, some kind of bookshop - and the pub. That’s it. That’s Thornby, his home for the next couple of months - or rather, until Robb has calmed down again. Not very promising.

The pub, to Theon’s anger and surprise, looks nothing like he hoped it would, or like Robb had described it. It’s unlit, the empty windows look cold and uninviting, but maybe that’s the rain, and Theon’s mood. The sign with the Pub’s name is unreadable, faded almost completely. What an utter shithole.

Upon trying the front door and finding it open, Theon enters through a small vestibule, stacked with local attraction folders, into the bar room. The only light is a _Black Sheep_ advertisement at the bar. The fireplace is empty, leaving the room cool and damp. About a half dozen of the tables are ready laid, another ten are bare with the chairs put atop of them.

“Monday closed,” Theon reads from the sign at the door he’s still holding open. Fucking typical. Just now when he wants nothing more than a good fire and maybe a double whisky - well, there’s an idea. No one’s around as far as he can see, the bar is there and actually he could just get behind and help himself. He’s to work here after all, so the liquor should be fair game.

No sooner said than done, Theon has Loki’s carrier and the rucksack deposited on the floor. His hand is already closing around a bottle of _Famous Grouse_ , and he can practically taste the golden whisky, can feel the burn in his throat and the warmth in his stomach, when a husky voice startles him half to death.

“We’re closed today.”

Theon swivels around, bottle still in hand, just about to launch into a lengthy defense - and stops dead. And stares. Because of course he recognizes him immediately, so like his uncle, but _man,_ Jon has changed. His face is still long, but his hair seems to have grown out of the ridiculous clown wig hairdo he used to sport as a kid, he wears it tied back, and he’s somehow grown into his - now bearded - face, not looking like a horse at all anymore. He doesn’t hunch his shoulders like he used to, and seems to have put on some well-distributed weight. As a kid he had been frightfully skinny.

But most of all he looks familiar, comfortable somehow. Memories start to well up in Theon’s mind, of long summers spent together, him and Jon and Robb, of stupid teenage fights and jealousy over being Robb’s best friend, of periods of truce between them, of something very much like being cautious allies despite their constant bickering.

“Jon,” Theon says, a smile starting on his face. “Twelve fucking years. It’s good to see you, man.”

For a solid minute Jon doesn’t react at all, he just continues looking at Theon with that calm face, as if he’s having trouble placing him. Theon sets the bottle down, thinking maybe Jon’s waiting for him to do so. Nothing. Has he really changed this much since he was eighteen, Theon wonders? Then, finally, Jon nods.

“Greyjoy. I expected you tomorrow.”

Well, that at least explains why Jon hasn’t picked him up at the station. Must’ve been some misunderstanding. But it doesn’t explain Jon’s utter lack of a smile, or any kind of feeling one would expect on seeing their childhood companion after nearly twelve years. Robb, the liar! Theon sighs inwardly. Of course Robb must have told Jon everything, he calls him every Friday after all.

“Look, Jon, I’ll-”

“I’ll show you the place. You’re wet. You might want to change and rest.”

Okay, so Jon doesn’t want to talk about it. So much the better, Theon thinks as he shoulders his rucksack and picks up the carrier to follow Jon through the room. At the end of it there’s a narrow staircase, steep enough that Theon struggles with his luggage as he climbs it behind Jon.

At the top of the stairs Jon opens a fire door, leading to a long corridor with numbered doors. At the end of it there’s another door, this one with a sign saying Private. Behind that, a second flight of stairs, then a third, then another corridor - Theon isn’t sure they’re even in the same building anymore.

The last corridor leads into a small living room containing a kitchen unit. It looks comfortable and homely with the fire crackling in the fireplace and the well-worn couch. Theon looks at the fire longingly, but Jon has opened another door at the other side of the room.

“This is your room. It isn’t big and we don’t have a central heating in this part, but you’re welcome to use the living room. I’m not up here that often except on Mondays. Evenings sometimes.”

Jon lets Theon shuffle past him into the - ice cold - room and watches him place the carrier on the carpet. Loki, of course, chooses this moment to come to life again and start protesting at the top of his lungs. Theon shoots Jon a questioning glance.

“Sorry. I didn’t even ask if I can bring him - is it okay? He’s usually pretty well-behaved. Not like his staff,” Theon adds with a smirk, attempting to lighten the mood. No reaction. “I mean, he’s better behaved than I am?”

“No problem.” Jon shrugs. “Just see that he keeps out of the pub. And the guest rooms. Come on, I’ll show you the rest.”

Slightly unsettled by Jon’s unchanging, blank face, Theon follows him back into the living room. A quick look around shows the glaring lack of a telly, and Theon just wants to comment on that when Jon points at another door.

“This is my room. The bathroom and toilet are over there,” he continues to the door to the corridor they came in through. “You’ll have to share that with me. For warm water you pull the string hanging from the ceiling and wait about twenty minutes. Take care with the toilet, it clogs easily and you have to pump the flushing a couple times before it works.”

Fucking great. This must be the last remaining house from the middle ages. Well, it’s only for some time, not for forever. And if Jon can live with it, Theon very fucking well can too. So he just nods to all of Jon’s explanations, nods to his suggestion to use the backdoor instead of going in and out through the pub, down another staircase at the back of the building.

_It’s not forever._

***

_Hey love!_

_I know it’s been a while but there just hasn’t been anything worth boring you with. I know you hate being bored. And it’s not as if there’s much happening around here._

_Roose came in yesterday afternoon. He didn’t stay long, only told me that his estranged son is going to come to visit soon. He’s still devastated from when his older son died some months ago. Poor man. I wonder sometimes if all the rumours are true about him and his sons. Why the one had been in a coma for so long while the other one has avoided the area the whole time. None of my business though._

_Theon Greyjoy is here. I think I told you in my last note that Robb was going to send him here to help me out? He was dripping wet because he walked all the way from the station, and that’s a good three miles. I thought he was coming tomorrow. He looked inexplicably pleased to see me - can’t think why, we haven’t been the best of friends back then, what with him being an ass most of the time when we were kids._

_Anyway, he was just about to drink my whisky when I found him down in the bar. I hope that’s not a general problem, alcoholism or something. I remember before he went to his mother’s funeral and never came back before I left Winterfell he liked to go out and drink and pull girls and all that._

_You knew him a little, didn’t you? From the archery club? I think you’ve mentioned it before. Please tell me he didn’t pull you! Kidding. Well, he’s here now, and he has used up all the hot water for today. If he’s going to be of any help remains to be seen. Doesn’t look too strong, he’s really thin._

_Gilly has invented a new delicious recipe for game pie. We had a lot of pheasants this year. Sam killed two on the moorside road and now he's out of his mind with guilt even though everyone tells him those birds are suicidal. They jump in front of every moving vehicle. He still insisted on burying them, with a funeral and everything. At least no one expects me to smile at a funeral._

_I hope the rain stops tonight. I really need to get the laundry outside to dry. I know I could just do it inside, but then the living room is full and besides, I can’t forget what you said about the smell of sun-dried laundry. Well, for that we need sun._

_I miss you very much, love. Give our girl a kiss from me, okay?_

_Jon_

_PS: Greyjoy brought a cat. I don’t know its name yet but he says it won’t make any trouble. Ghost would’ve eaten it for breakfast, don’t you think?_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Er... hello? 
> 
> It's not Thursday... But I'm so fucking agitated from the episode I need distraction. Also wrote so much today!
> 
> That, and I don't possess an ounce of self-control^^

Something is rotten in the state of Thornby. 

Theon can’t put his finger on it, but something’s really wrong. That first night he doesn’t sleep well at all. He’s hungry and cold and restless, there are strange noises coming from the attic above his bedroom, and Theon keeps turning the same thoughts over and over in his mind. Robb, Roslyn, Jon, even  _ him _ , all turning up and meddling with his brain until Theon’s eyes close from the sheer inability to keep them open. 

The next day isn’t very promising either, starting with getting up late and having tea, eight slices of thickly buttered toast and a long shower, long enough that the water turns from hot to lukewarm, then cold. Theon doesn’t see Jon at all until he goes down into the pub on his own in the late afternoon, after unpacking his things and unsuccessfully trying to get Loki to talk to him again.

Jon throws Theon an indifferent gaze when he enters the main bar, now a lot brighter and livelier than yesterday. There’s a fire going, soft radio music is playing in the background, and several tables are occupied by wind-beaten looking people in sturdy shoes and clothes, all seemingly in great moods despite the rain having not let up at all. 

Their chatter fills the room, the smell of damp wool is hanging in the air, and there’s even a gigantic, wet dog dozing on a rug in front of the hearth. Not knowing what to do with himself, Theon waves half-heartedly at the room, feeling a lot of curious glances as he sidles over to the bar where Jon is just writing what seems to be a list of desserts onto a small blackboard. 

“Hey,” Theon greets him, leaning over the counter to get a better look. “Sticky Toffee Pudding, eh? A favourite of mine as it happens.” He could eat a whole ton of that right now. 

“You can have some if there’s any left when we’re done tonight.” Jon doesn’t look up as he finishes the list with a Chocolate Fudge Brownie. “Or you can buy a slice.”

“Gee, tone it down with the hospitality.” Theon raises his hands, feeling slightly put out. “I was just trying to make conversation.” He watches Jon stick the blackboard onto a wooden holder. “I meant to ask… Anything I can do to help?”

“Not much left with preparing the rooms since you decided to sleep until noon. We do the guest rooms before opening for lunch on Tuesdays. Afternoon all other days except Mondays.”

Jon turns his back on Theon, starting to carefully inspect the rows of spirits and liquor bottles lining up behind the bar. When he comes to the  _ Grouse _ , he pauses. 

“No drinks until we’re closed, except when a guest buys you one. Don’t get drunk though. We close at eleven pm. What you do after that is your thing. I expect you to be up at eight am tomorrow to help with breakfast should anyone come in.”

Wow. Theon feels anger stirring in his chest. This is like a workhouse, like a fucking gaol, and he really doesn’t know what he did to deserve this - okay, he does - but this still seems a little harsh. Jon obviously means to punish him for what he did to Robb. 

“Anything I can do  _ now? _ ” Theon asks, trying not to sound too sulky. Jon acts like he’s wronged him personally. That’s not fair, really. 

“Yeah. Come on, I’ll show you.”

Jon leads Theon into the big pub kitchen, hot and stuffed to the brim with a couple of ovens, a microwave, a huge fridge-freezer, two sinks, a couple of chairs and a long, narrow desk. A woman is busy at work there, peeling an endless stream of potatoes with what seems like practiced ease. 

“Gilly,” Jon says when she looks up questioningly, “this is the help I’ve been telling you about. Show him the ropes, will you? He’ll do service.”

And with that Jon leaves, the swing doors swaying as he walks out briskly. Theon looks after him for a moment, then down at Gilly. She seems nice, if a little plain, but there’s a ring on her finger and Theon has definitely learned  _ that _ lesson. No taken women. So he gives her his best non-seductive grin. She smiles back tentatively. 

“Theon,” Theon says. “The help, obviously. I have to tell you though, I’ve never cooked anything besides eggs on toast in my whole life.”

Gilly giggles, motioning for him to take a seat. “Jon says you’re going to be serving, so no need for you to cook anything. If you could help with prepping and cleaning up afterwards I’d be grateful, sure, but having service off my hands is a huge relief already.”

“Is it that bad?” Theon asks, puzzled. 

“I just really don’t like going out there too much,” she whispers, nodding her head towards the bar. “Not that the guests aren’t nice, including the regulars, but I’m… let’s say my family was different. Traveling folk.” 

At Theon’s puzzled gaze she sighs, putting down her knife and wiping her hands at her apron.

“Gypsies, okay? Don’t ever use that word and don’t make me say it again. People tend to - well, there’s a lot of prejudice amongst local people. Nobody ever dares to say anything in front of Ice, but I know the looks and what they say when they’re among themselves.”

“Ice?” Theon thinks he must’ve misheard. “Do you mean Jon?”

“That’s what everyone calls him around here.” Gilly smiles apologetically. “Not to his face, obviously. But don’t tell me you haven’t noticed already. How cold he is. He never smiles. He never gets angry. He’s like… like…” She looks around, pointing at a pan on the stovetop and waving her hand explanatorily. “Like Teflon. Everything seems to slide off of him. Didn’t you grow up together or something? Has he always been like that?”

Theon only shakes his head, grabbing an unpeeled potato from the little mountain still left. His silence seems to prompt Gilly to drop the topic, because she takes up her knife and starts talking about her fourteen year old son and her husband, who’s the village historian or something like that. Somehow they both seem to have the same first name, but are not actually related. Theon only listens with half a mind as he mechanically swivels the potato in his hands. 

No, Jon has definitely  _ not _ always been like this. As a kid and then a teenager he’d been pretty ordinary. Sullen, yes. Quick to take offense with something, then pouting up a storm. Quiet. Jon hadn’t been much of a talker, especially with Theon. But with Robb he had talked, with Robb he had laughed and joked. And sometimes, on special occasions, in times of white flags and companionship, also with Theon. 

And Jon certainly never had been cold. He’d been shy and insecure, not having many friends outside the Stark family circle, but with his cousins he had always been loving and warm. Never cold. He’d been respectful to the adults, even to those treating him badly or thoughtlessly.

So what on earth had happened to change him into someone people would call Ice? It’s the same nickname Ned Stark had when he’d been in the police force, as it happens. When did the changes start? Does Robb know about this alteration in his cousin’s character? He must, they’re still talking regularly, and a couple years ago Robb had been out here for a week or so. 

Theon tries to remember if Robb had said anything about Jon behaving peculiarly, but comes up with nothing. Now that he’s thinking about it though… They’ve  _ never  _ talked about Jon, really. Not after Theon had come back from his…  _ adventure.  _ Not at any time. Jon had moved out to the sticks, and that had been that.

Sometimes after Robb’s usual Friday call to Jon Theon would ask in passing, on his way out to the clubs to sort his lay for the night, how’s the old Horseface? Robb would always give some generic answer like fine, or good, and that was all. Theon’s a little sorry now that he’s never really enquired after Jon. It seems… thoughtless. But then as far as he knows, Jon has never asked about him either, so what the heck. 

And really, Theon can only say Gilly’s right from what he’s seen so far. He thought Jon was angry with him, but when he thinks about it he hasn’t shown any signs of real anger. Or any emotion, in fact. Not even a tiny spark of curiosity, let alone joy or delight at seeing Theon again after over a decade. 

Okay, maybe that was expecting too much. Still, Theon had been happy to see Jon again. For the first second or so. Before his blank face and indifferent demeanour had unsettled Theon so. 

Well, he thinks as he laughs politely about one of Gilly’s son’s shenanigans at school, that’s at least something to do for him here. Finding out what has happened to turn Jon into this homage to The Walking Dead. 

***

_ Hey, love.  _

_ Nothing much to tell today. Opened the pub as usual, had some early hikers… The season is starting and soon I’ll be buried in work up to my ears.  _

_ Right now I’m taking a half hour to myself before the dinner guests come in. Thought about taking a nice shower (cold, no hot water again) and write to you. Greyjoy is down there, says he’ll look after everything till I’m back. Probably drinking my whisky again or stuffing his face with the pie he’s managed to get his hands on.  _

_ Gilly says he seems alright. She must like him - after all she’s made him an extra pie - but I’m not sure. We will see if he can handle service tonight without dropping too much, getting drunk or chatting up the guests.  _

_ From what Robb tells me no one’s safe from that. Strange, when I knew him back then he was exclusively after the girls, but now it seems I have to worry about  _ all  _ my guests. At least he hasn’t hit on Gilly. Yet. _

_ I miss you so much, love. Without you life has no flavour. And don’t roll your eyes at that, you little minx, you know me. Can’t help that.  _

_ I’ll write again when I have something more interesting to say. Give our girl a kiss and tell her Daddy loves her so much and misses her too.  _

_ Jon  _

_ PS: The cat’s name is Loki. He’s okay. _

***

**Theon:** ok u gotta tell me wtf is wrong here

**Robb:** Who’s that?

**Theon:** you deleted my number??

**Robb:** Oh. Yeah. Listen, I’m not in the mood for apologies ok?

**Theon:** sorry

**Theon:** im hanging out of a window here to get reception man

**Robb:** Do I have to block you??

**Theon:** just tell me whats wrong with horseface ok

**Robb:** No idea what you mean 

**Theon:** i mean the night of the living dead impression hes doing every fucking day

**Robb:** Look that’s not my story to tell. Can we stop now? I don’t really wanna talk to you

**Theon:** robb im so sorry

_ User not available.  _

Fuck. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please distract me! ;_;


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Thursday. Maybe I should at least try to get something like regularity going... :p
> 
> Don't know about Monday though, I might be dead of a broken heart. We'll see.

Serving is a shit job, Theon decides after having dropped two plates and spilled half a bowl of soup over a middle-aged woman’s tweed-covered bosom. Though he’s apologized profusely he can still feel her witchy glare follow him wherever he goes. Most of the time he hides in the kitchen, munching his way through a series of delicious foods Gilly puts aside for him from every plate she prepares.

“Are you always that hungry?” she asks, shaking her head as Theon digs into a slice of steak and ale pie. “I wonder where you put all that. You’re skinny as a rake.”

Theon shrugs. His appetite has started returning some time ago, but since he’s way too lazy to cook for himself and Robb is a natural disaster in the kitchen, he hasn’t actually been eating as much as he wanted to. This is heaven now, a wonderful cook and all the food he can keep down. Every now and then a thought flickers up, a voice in his head calling him fat. Theon stuffs another fork of mash with gravy into his mouth. Fuck you, he thinks smugly.

The guests - apart from the tweed witch - seem nice enough. There aren’t too many at once, it’s a nice coming and going. Most seem to be hikers or something of the sort, ruddy-cheeked and weathered, all boisterous and merry. As usual in pubs they order their stuff at the bar where Jon is busy writing into some kind of notebook while Theon takes orders and collects the money.

Some guests Jon greets by name, telling Theon they’re regulars. Most of them have tabs, so Theon gets on and serves them their drinks. One sour-looking chap - Mister Baratheon - seems to be some kind of VIP. He often has a child with him. Her name is Shireen, and half of her face is covered in ominous scars, but she has a cute smile.

A young, heavy guy with an abominable hairstyle turns out to be Gilly’s husband, burying his nose in a huge book the second he sits down. Then there’s a whole gaggle of girls, all seemingly related, giggling loudly. None of them are really worth a second look, but they simper and flick their hair when Theon greets them, so he turns on the charm. He smiles and serves compliments alongside bangers and mash and fish and chips, secretly wishing them all to hell. He’s tired of flirting.

The boldest of them strokes his arm while fluttering her lashes, and Theon grits his teeth as he smirks down at her, forcing himself to sound as animated as possible. He hates this, hates the routine, has hated it for a while now. He doesn’t know how to stop though, what to do once this is gone, so he continues.

“I hope I’ll see you more often, ladies,” he drawls as he collects their emptied plates. “You brighten up the rainiest day.”

With that he winks and turns around, nearly slamming into Jon who’s standing behind him, arms crossed, face unmoving.

“Gilly needs you in the kitchen and we have a new guest,” he says, nodding over to the door where an older guy with a dog has just entered. “He’s a regular, you can bring him his drinks.”

Dog and master shake the rain off themselves, waving over to where Mr. Baratheon and his daughter are sitting before settling down next to the fire. Theon has already learned it’s the least favoured table, what with the fire being really big and hot, but the old man doesn’t seem hot at all. He takes off his dark green jacket but keeps his jumper on. The dog stretches out before the fire.

“Hi,” Theon says as he approaches the table. “I’m Theon, I’m here for a while to help Jon. What can I get you?”

“Davos,” the man says in a friendly tone. “How good for Ice te’ have another pair of hands. I always take the same thing, lad: a pint of our local bitter, a double portion of Gilly’s shepherd's pie and a double scotch to wash it down.”

“Noted,” Theon grins. Davos is a guy who knows what he wants.

When he gets to the bar Jon has both drinks ready and Theon carries them over nearly without spilling.

“New to this?” Davos asks, amusement crinkling his light eyes. “Ye’ll get into it soon enough. Why don’t ye go get me my food and have a drink with me?”

Now that is an offer Theon can live with. After serving Davos a huge amount of shepherd's pie he braves Jon’s cold look and pours himself a generous swig of Talisker before joining Davos at his table. They talk about the shit weather, about Davos’ dog - an old, maroon-coloured bloodhound with a grey muzzle called Mel - about Theon and Jon’s childhood connection and Davos’ job. Apparently he’s the village’s sole hunter as well as the local lord’s gamekeeper.

It’s nice talking to Davos, easy and relaxing. With regulars like him, maybe this job isn’t going to be as hellish as Theon thought.

***

It’s after midnight when Theon finally collapses into his ice-cold bed. His feet are killing him. The last guests had left shortly before eleven, but Theon had spent a good hour cleaning glasses in Jon’s silent company. His few attempts at starting a conversation had lead to nothing but empty looks and more silence, so Theon had finally thrown in the literal towel and headed upstairs.

The shower hadn’t let itself be persuaded to become more than lukewarm and now Theon is in bed, wearing his thickest jumper, under a duvet and a woolen blanket, wondering if he’s ever been this cold. There’s not even the warm weight of Loki at his feet: the bloody cat is still pissed at him and has decided to stay in the living room. Theon wishes he could stay there too, on the couch by the fire.

It’s half past one when Theon hears Jon’s steps outside. A few moments later the shower turns on, followed by a loud gasp. Theon giggles. Seems like the water is decidedly cold now. Fitting for someone people call Ice. He finally falls asleep, only to wake up again what feels like hardly ten minutes later. A quick look at his phone tells Theon it’s nearly three am, and he grumpily closes his eyes again, pulling his covers tighter around himself.

And sits up like a bolt when he hears a rustling noise coming from above his head. It sounds like light footsteps, then as if furniture is moved around. What the actual fuck? Too tired to deal with this on top of everything Theon pulls the duvet over his head. He wouldn’t be surprised if this place is haunted, but the ghost will have to wait until tomorrow.

***

The next time Theon wakes up, bright sunlight is streaming into his room. He sits up, yawning and rubbing his eyes while angling for his phone. Shit. Eleven am already. Jon will fucking kill him. As fast as he can Theon dresses, filling Loki’s bowls with dry food and water, opting for a quick wash instead of a shower and cursing loudly when he nearly scalds his hands on the burning hot water from the tap. The other side is freezing and Theon gives up on washing, cringing as he brushes his teeth with cold water.

“I’m sorry, man,” he gasps as he bursts into the pub, startling a couple of old ladies already waiting for their food. Theon stalks over to where Jon is scribbling into his book again behind the bar. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

“Am I your nanny?” Jon doesn’t even look up. “You’re supposed to be an adult, set your alarm clock.”

Theon watches him for a moment, feeling miffed at the unkind greeting.

“It’s a nice day today, isn’t it?” he tries, leaning against the bar. No answer. “Did you sleep well? I heard some noises from the attic last night. Sounded like someone was up there. You didn’t forget to tell me you have a ghost by any chance? Or your wife who went mad and now you keep her captive?”

At this Jon looks up, dark eyes unchanged and blank. “Martens,” he says, as if that explains everything. “Why don’t you go and serve the ladies their lunch? Gilly should have it ready by now.”

Theon stalks off, throwing Jon a last, disgruntled look. This really is unnerving, the blank voice, the unmoved cold stare… At least Gilly seems happy to see him, having kept a huge load of breakfast in the oven for him.

“You’re an angel,” Theon states, swallowing down a mouthful of grilled mushrooms. “I’d starve to death without you.”

“I like a man with a good appetite,” Gilly says with a wink, and it’s so nice and non-flirtatious that Theon winks back before digging in again.

There aren’t many guests - the pub seems to make most its turnover from the evening crowd and some overnight visitors. At the moment they have no one staying, but when Theon looks on the calender Jon keeps behind the bar he sees they’re expecting a couple and a group of three on Friday.

Deciding he’ll see if Loki is up for a chat, Theon heads back into the pub, pausing as he hears Jon talking to someone. For a moment Theon is mystified, until he notices the cord from the pub landline. Theon just wants to sneak past when Jon sighs.

“Yes, I’m still alive as you can hear,” he says into the receiver, and Theon jolts to a stop.

What???

“I know. Sorry. All normal, yes. Listen, Catelyn, some people just came in, I have to go. Talk to you next Wednesday, as always. Bye.”

While Jon hangs up Theon continues on upstairs. What on earth is the meaning if this? The last information he had on the topic was that Cat isn’t Jon’s biggest fan, and now she apparently calls every Wednesday? To see if Jon is still alive? Theon shakes his head. This is getting more mysterious every moment.

Upstairs, with Loki still refusing to acknowledge him, Theon makes himself a cuppa, sipping it slowly as he ponders this newest piece of information. He knows Robb calls Jon every Friday, and Cat on Wednesdays. Who’ll it be tomorrow? He’ll have to watch Jon like a hawk to get to the bottom of this secret. Or…?

Theon’s eyes wander to the door to Jon’s room. It’s closed of course, but is it locked? Feeling the tiniest hint of guilt Theon tries the handle, flinching in surprise when it actually turns and the door swings open. He really shouldn’t do this. So naturally Theon sneaks in, letting his gaze roam the tiny room. Nothing spectacular and as icy as his. But there is something that catches Theon’s eye.

With a quick glance over his shoulder Theon steps into the room, picking up the framed photo standing on the bedside table. It shows a young woman with bright red hair and striking blue eyes. She seems exhausted and sweaty, her face under the freckles is pale. Jon is apparently sitting next to her, looking ridiculously young and ridiculously happy, gazing down in wonder. At a newborn baby sleeping in the cradle of the girl’s arm.

Theon stares at the photo until it starts to blur before his eyes. Who are they? Whose baby is this? The girl seems vaguely familiar and it takes a good minute before Theon remembers. She’s been some kind of legend in his archery club back in Winterfell, winning all the competitions, famous for her impeccable aim, words as well as arrows. Ingrid it was, or something like that.

And here she is, sans bow and arrows, but with a baby, and Jon. Theon frowns as he tries to piece it together. Where are they now? Is it Jon’s baby? What happened? Has she left him, taken the kid with her? Is that the reason for the whole zombie state Jon’s in?

There’s only one thing to do. Take a walk, hope to get reception on some hill around the village, and call someone from the archery club. Maybe they know what has happened to Ingrid. And her baby.

***

_He poured soup over a guest. Soup. Like, hot soup. God, I hope he learns fast._

_Cat called, as per usual. Sounds like the family is fine. I’m never sure what to say to her, even less than with the others. I lied and said people were coming to get off the phone. Maybe I’m too harsh. I know she means well._

_I think Greyjoy and his cat are at odds. Loki’s always in the living room when I come up. Right now he’s staring at me from the rug. I wonder what he sees._

_I’m tired, love. So tired._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you'd like a chapter on Monday let me know and in the event of still being alive I'll see what I can do. 
> 
> Any thoughts so far?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is kinda where the Wuthering Heights references start...
> 
> Attention, guys. Spoilers for S08E03 in my end note.

Theon blinks into the cold air, fumbling for his phone to stop the annoying beeps. Seven thirty. Perfect. Of course Jon is nowhere to be seen when Theon steps out of his room, and he wonders if he’s showered at all - the water is gloriously hot and Theon stands under the slow dribble until it turns cold again. He shaves, brushes his teeth, immensely proud with himself for getting up so early, when suddenly the door opens. 

“Hey!” Theon shouts, wrapping the towel tighter around his hips. “Can’t you knock?”

“You’re up,” Jon states, wandering into the room without really looking at Theon. 

Theon frowns. Jon really could be a little more impressed with the fact. He’s always loved sleeping in, even back when they were living together at the Starks’. He watches in disbelief as Jon pulls his jumper over his head, pausing only when Theon makes a questioning sound. 

“What?”

“Can you at least wait until I’m out of here? Where have you been by the way?”

“A walk.” Jon starts opening his belt, hesitates and sighs. “Alright. Before I have to answer a ton of silly questions each day. I get up at six, I go for a walk, I shower, I see if anyone is in for breakfast, I do the guest rooms. The rest you know already. And now I’m going to get on with it if you allow.”

Was there a hint of sarcasm? Theon decides not to risk it, this flood of voluntary information has been surprising enough. As is the fact that Jon is now climbing into the shower, and Theon does his best not to look while quickly brushing his hair. Really, the guy has nerves. A hiss from the shower tells Theon the water is still cold, and he books it out of the bathroom before Jon can - rightly - accuse him of using it all up. 

No guests show up for breakfast this morning, and Jon leaves Theon alone to do his washing. The guest rooms are ready for tomorrow’s arrivals, they only need to check and maybe dust tomorrow morning. Bored, Theon decides to go for a walk himself. At least he can get the phone call out of the way then, and it’ll be nice to get out of here for an hour. 

Theon informs Jon, who’s just hanging up endless strings of black clothes in the backyard, of his intentions, receiving a shrug in return. Well, fine by him, Theon thinks grumpily as he stalks down the main street, hands buried in his pockets. He’s really curious now, what happened to the Jon from before, the Jon from the photo. This Jon is an ass. 

He turns into a small lane leading uphill, passing a sign saying,  _ Castle Bolton _ . Theon shivers delicately. What are the odds of encountering that name out here in the sticks? Ramsay would have a field day with a castle named like him. My father is a lord, he used to say. All bull, Theon is sure now. 

Halfway to the castle Theon’s phone finally shows signs of life, and after another couple hundred feet he gets enough of a signal to google the number of the Winterfell archery club. He taps it, waiting for the dial tone, crossing his fingers. 

“Archery Club Winterfell, Kyra speaking!” trills the familiar voice, and Theon thanks his lucky stars. 

“Hey baby, you’ll never guess who this is.”

“Theon!” she squeals and he laughs. 

“Alright, you’re a really clever girl. How is everybody? How are you?”

He listens patiently as she rambles on and on about people he’s no longer interested in, throwing in a non-committal sound every now and then. Finally she seems to run out of news and Theon rushes to get a word in. 

“Hey, remember that girl that won all the tournaments? Fierce redhead, freckles, swearing like a sailor?”

“You mean Ygritte?”

“I think so.” That’s it, Ygritte. Not Ingrid. “Do you know what happened to her?”

“Oh yes. Tragic story.”

Kyra’s voice takes on a reverent tone and suddenly Theon feels cold, despite still standing in the sun. 

“She met some guy, got preggers and then, not long after the baby was born, she had a car accident.”

The sun vanishes behind a cloud. 

“They both died.”

_ Died. _ What a final, ugly word. Theon shivers. How is it possible he knows nothing of this? 

“When did that happen?”

“Oh, right after you left. Some fans still visit her grave I hear.” Kyra sighs. “As I said, really tragic. I wonder how her guy took it. He must’ve been devastated. To lose his girlfriend and his baby at the same time… Well, it’s been awfully long ago. Maybe he married some day and had a whole bunch of kids.”

_ No _ , Theon wants to say.  _ He’s dead too. _ And now that he understands why, he feels awful for thinking bad of Jon. For thinking he’s an ass. 

“Are you even listening?” Kyra sounds slightly annoyed. “I said that a guy has been here asking about you. I told him we haven’t seen you in ages and he seemed disappointed.”

“What guy,” Theon asks absentmindedly. 

“Hm, hard to say. Oh! Have you ever read Wuthering Heights? He looks like I’ve always imagined Heathcliff.”

For the second time in the last fifteen minutes, Theon feels utterly, utterly cold. 

***

It had been a joke between them, in the beginning. Before things had taken a turn for the worse. How much Ramsay resembled a Brontë character. Mr. Rochester, Heathcliff… Dark and hulky, a strange, compelling kind of charme, a something about him that had been hard to resist. My Cathy, Ramsay had said and laughed when Theon had protested against being the woman. And it’s not as if he has anything in common with that impossible bitch. 

My Cathy his ass. Theon carefully exhales, trying to fight the onslaught of memories raining down on him. It had turned into another pet name soon enough. He shakes his head. Definitely not going there, thank you very much. He looks ahead, at the thick walls of Castle Bolton looming over the hills. A fucking perfect lair for Heathcliff. Or Ramsay fucking Bolton. 

***

During dinner service that night Theon cannot help throwing Jon glances all the time. He practically itches to go and give him a hug, a seldom humane notion for Theon. He doesn’t. Would probably be like trying to hug a marble statue. 

The girls are in again and Theon smirks and flirts and wishes them all out of the door as quickly as possible. When everyone has finally left Theon lingers in the kitchen, helping Gilly with the cleaning up. Her husband is there too, waiting for her to finish to take her home. He seems nice, if a little weird. He talks a lot. 

Theon watches them, how Gilly smiles proudly everytime Sam states another boring historical fact. They seem to be perfect for one another, and he’s surprised when he finds that he envies them. Theon’s so sick of it, always on the run from one person to the next, one meaningless shag after the other, no break, not a moment to stop and think. 

Coming here has at least put a stop to the fucking, which does feel nice for a change, and Theon just wonders how long it can last before he gets restless again, before he needs the validation, the confirmation that he’s still desirable. Still Theon Greyjoy. 

“Thank you, Theon,” Gilly says as they are about to leave, “I’ve saved you two slices of bread pudding. They’re in the oven, should be still warm.”

“Your woman,” Theon tells Sam, “is worth her weight in gold.”

“I know,” Sam smiles, kissing her cheek. “She’s one in a million.”

One in a million… Theon wonders if there’s someone like that for him too. He’d thought he’d found him, for a short time. And look how well that had turned out. Pig, Ramsay whispers in his head as Theon starts to dive into his pudding. Dirty, fucking pig. 

“Fuck you,” Theon tells the empty kitchen. 

***

Friday starts uneventfully. Theon refrains from showering before Jon comes back from his walk, even going as far as making him a cuppa. He feels so sorry for him… No one should have to go through something like Jon has. It’s just so horrible, so unimaginable, so utterly devastating. The picture won’t leave Theon’s head, the happiness in Jon’s face, the sheer amazement as he looked down on his child. Gone. 

Jon barely looks at the cup Theon shoves over to him, showing no reaction whatsoever. This can’t be healthy, Theon thinks, withdrawing from the world like that. It’s as if Jon has no emotion left in him. Theon wonders if he would even bat an eye if he’d spontaneously burst into flames. Probably not. 

The only time Jon had shown a mere hint of a reaction had been when he’d had to shower with cold water. Hm. There’s an idea. What if… Theon nods, suddenly determined. He’ll get Jon to show a sign of life, one way or another. And if he has to annoy the fuck out of him. Jon Snow has to come back to life. 

***

_ Hi love! _

_ The washing is out, am I not a wonderful houseman? I just hope the good weather will last. It brings more people in too.  _

_ Greyjoy is doing alright. At least he’s stopped pouring soup over guests. Gilly is completely smitten with him, as are all the female customers. Except the soup victim. I’m glad she wasn’t a regular.  _

_ Robb has called today as usual. Something’s happened between him and Greyjoy - he didn’t even want to speak with him. I just don’t care enough to ask.  _

_ Roose hasn’t been in the last three days. Probably preparing everything for his son’s arrival. And the big hunt of course. I hate that sport, the fox always reminds me of you in a way, cute but feral. And red hair of course. But he’s the boss and the lord, I can’t say anything. If you were here you’d probably have a lot to say to him.  _

_ Without you I’m not brave anymore.  _

_ Guests have come this afternoon, a couple, Mr. and Mrs. Lannister. I think they’re married, at least she had her tongue in his ear when he filled out the registration, but they do look so alike it’s eerie. The girls are definitely siblings, from down south. Greyjoy will be all over them at breakfast I fear. Man hits on everything sitting still long enough.  _

_ Gods, I hope Satin doesn’t come while Greyjoy’s here. He has it hard enough already with the old morons, he doesn’t need a slutty waiter hitting on him on top of that.  _

_ I miss you, loads, every second. You and the little one. Maybe I’ll dream of you tonight. Makes waking up hell, but worth it every time.  _

_ Love you, _

_ Jon _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR S08E03!!!!!!!
> 
> ...fuck. We all knew it was coming and yet. FUCK. Fuck D&D for the waste of an amazing character and an amazing actor. He could've done so much more. 
> 
> But Theon... he was so brave. He was home. 
> 
> I always used to smirk at people getting invested in fictional characters. Yes, I cried over Fred Weasley and Boromir and all those, but. I never knew how it could be until Theon Greyjoy came and assholed his way into my heart (I'm even sappy as fuck in my fucking notes!!!) 
> 
> I'm absolutely devastated to have lost him in canon, but here I am doing what I can. And that is let him live, and give him one fucking Happy End after the other. Because I fucking love Theon Greyjoy!!!!
> 
> And no, this isn't even far from the end (lol) but well, you know me. Happy Ending IS COMING. Ffs. 
> 
> Over and out, I have to go and sit and work and pretend I have a bad allergy attack. (Absolutely everyone: Ooooh you look awful. Gee, thanks.)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still heartbroken. *sigh*

Theon slurps loudly as he finishes his tea, cringing at the sound. The sacrifices he endures for a friend - or the cousin of a friend, or an old childhood companion, whatever. If anyone dared to drink their tea like that in his vicinity, Theon would probably rip their throat out. Annoyingly, Jon doesn’t appreciate Theon’s efforts in the slightest. He’s sitting there on the couch, completely immersed in his strange journal, not even noticing the background concert of gurgles and slurps. 

With a huff Theon puts his cup down and starts preparing his toast, which means butter stains and nutella smears plus a whole mountain of crumbs everywhere that Theon intends to leave for Jon to clean up. It’s all part of the plan. Leave a mess wherever he goes, be of as little help as possible, anything to get a rise out of this zombie. So far no luck. 

Theon sighs, watching Jon as he gets up and walks out without even acknowledging him. At least there’s some fun in this. He’s been using up all the hot water, has clogged up the toilet to the point Jon had had to call a plumber - that had been a good day. Theon had stuffed enough toilet paper to supply a family of six with bowel problems into the bowl. Jon hadn’t even batted an eyelid. 

But the plumber, damn. Built like a brick house, short dark hair and very striking blue eyes with smile crinkles. Theon had had to bite his tongue quite hard to refrain from making any porn jokes, about laying pipes and the such. Wouldn’t have been any use, the man had to be as straight as a ramrod, judging from how he didn’t react to any flirtatious comment. 

And the worst thing is, Theon isn’t even mad about it. Sure, it would’ve been good to get a little recognition again, from someone else but giggling hens, and a nice dicking is always welcome, but then there would’ve been the inevitable following through, the “sorry not interested in more” and the shame after - nothing more than a whore, aren’t you. 

No, it’s better to concentrate on being the biggest pain in Jon’s arse. Theon crosses off excessive flirting with guests from his mental checklist. No matter how grossly he goes overboard there, Jon merely suggests he should get back to work. No sign of annoyance at all, just a tiny hint of overall displeasure. 

Tonight Theon’s plans include drinking a lot of Jon’s precious whisky and maybe seeing if those three guests are up for a little flirt. They look alike very much, exotic with their masses of black hair, their tanned skin and sultry eyes. They’re a little scary. At one point Theon is sure he’s overheard a heated discussion about which poison would leave the faintest trace. 

“How are you enjoying your stay, ladies?” he smirks accordingly when delivering their smoked haddock that evening. “I hope you aren’t bored? You know, you could always ask me to show you around, the countryside, my room...”

They exchange glances, varying from amused to flattered to outright murderous. The one that seems to be some kind of ringleader curls her lips in a frightening parody of a smile, and Theon automatically takes a step back. 

“Why don’t you and your tiny prick go back to the kitchens and get me some ketchup?”

“Obara!” hisses another one, a pretty little thing. “You don’t know that!”

“We could take a look,” the third one muses, turning to give Theon’s crotch a perusing glare. “Not much to determine like that.”

“Really, Nym. Can’t you stop it?” the pretty one groans. “He’s not even that good looking.”

“Doesn’t have to be when the equipment is right,” is the nonchalant answer. 

Theon can’t believe it. They’re talking about him as if he’s barely there, as if he’s a piece of meat and nothing else! Also, not good looking? That one stings. True, his prime may have passed but… He rushes back to the kitchen for the ketchup, meaning to put it on the table and flee to the safe haven that is Gilly and roasted pork belly, but before he can do so his wrist is snatched. 

“See?” The first girl smirks at him, eyebrows smugly raised. “Not much fun like that, isn’t it?” When Theon doesn’t answer she huffs, letting go of him. “In future I suggest you don’t sleaze up to women who are just trying to eat. Or they might eat you.”

Their witchy laughter in his back Theon hurries over to the bar where he pours himself a triple Dalwhinnie under Jon’s somehow disapproving blank stare. It’s part of the plan - and now he definitely needs it. He drinks it quickly, and upon hearing a quiet huff from the side Theon groans. 

“Good grief, man. Get a grip, I’ll pay for your fucking whisky.”

“You do that,” is the answer and Theon swivels around in disbelief. 

Jon is looking at him as expressionless as ever, mouth tightly pressed together - but his voice had definitely sounded a little amused just now. Theon blinks, bending down slightly to get a better look, maybe there’s a trace of it still hidden in the black voids that are Jon’s eyes...

“Don’t get drunk,” Jon says into Theon’s musings, startling him. “And stop that.”

Okay, maybe he’s dreamed it. No amusement whatsoever, no emotion detectable. That can’t be healthy, Theon is sure. But nothing he does seems to be working, so he gives up on his plan of getting sloshed, and after helping Gilly with the washing up Theon goes to bed, leaving Jon to his glasses and bottles. 

It’s nearly midnight when Theon is woken by the fire doors clanging, followed by a tired sigh and a strange, familiar chirp. Theon sits up quickly. 

“Sorry, cat. I don’t have any treats. You should talk about that with your master.”

Theon creeps to the door, shuddering in the cold air. What the…

“Purr,” Loki says audibly. 

Theon seethes. The traitor! There he is out there, trying to cosy up to Buster fucking Keaton! He listens in disbelief as Loki apparently tells Jon a long and detailed story, interrupted by more purrs and chirps. 

“You’re a nice enough fellow,” Jon’s flat voice comes through the door. “Very fluffy. But I’m going to bed now, alright?”

Another meow, then a door falling shut. Theon cracks his own door open, peering out at Loki. The damn cat is sporting a look of utter disdain as it looks back at him.

“You too, Brutus?” Theon whispers angrily. “Do you think you want to come in? Maybe talk to  _ me _ for once?”

Slowly, deliberately, Loki turns his back on Theon, tail twitching. Well, fuck you too, Theon thinks grumpily, marching back to bed and wrapping the covers tightly around himself. Traitors, both of them. They’re welcome to each other, the fuckers. 

At least he gets some more sleep before a loud scraping noise wakes Theon again, just before five am. It’s coming from directly over his head and at first Theon is nothing but pissed at the disturbance. Damn martens, can’t they redecorate their living space when he’s  _ not _ trying to sleep? But then there’s a different noise, something like a long, low groan, and Theon suddenly remembers what he said to Jon as a joke, before he knew about Ygritte. 

About having his mad wife up there. 

Chills crawl all over Theon’s skin as another muffled groan descends from above, agonized and pained. What if it is her up there? Her ghost, searching for her lost child? Theon squeezes his eyes shut, dragging the duvet over his head. She appears before his inner eye, face blood-streaked, hands forming claws, desperately reaching out for him… Fuck this shithole, fuck it to the deepest hell!

***

“You don’t happen to have a computer hidden somewhere, do you?” 

Theon goes to lean over Jon’s shoulder, trying to get a look at his scribbles, but the book closes with a snap before he can make out any words. Jon is sitting on the couch, a familiar sight by now despite Jon’s assurance how he isn’t up here that often. He always is in the mornings when Theon comes out of the shower, still steaming from all the hot water available.

Jon peers at him from the corner of his eyes, edging away. He shakes his head‍. “No use. Internet connection, as you are aware, is pure luck.”

“You still could watch films on it. Or play games.” Theon huffs. “I don’t get how you’re able to live like this. No computer, no telly, what do you even do in your spare time?”

“Work,” is the curt answer, and Theon just wants to smack him.

“But I’m bored! Seriously, dear old Horseface…” Theon watches Jon closely but he doesn’t show any reaction to the familiar nickname. “I’m going crazy.”

“You could work too for a change.” At Theon’s snort Jon shrugs. “Then go and read a book, I really don’t care.”

“There are books? Where?” 

Theon hasn’t seen one yet, except for Jon’s journal and a few regional guidebooks. He’s not that much of a reader, but maybe it gives his mind something to think of that isn’t Jon or Jon’s ghost woman or Jon’s ghost woman’s ghost baby. 

“Sam has a bookshop.” Jon’s eyebrows are gathering, it’s just a tiny frown, but definitely a sign of annoyance. “Could you please leave me alone now? I have things to do.”

Delighted with this tiny success, Theon walks around the couch, slumping down next to Jon. 

“Don’t you just love the feeling of warm clothes after a really hot shower? Nothing better. I’d give anything for a nice long soak in the Starks’ hot tub now. You used to love it, remember? But Bran was the worst, Cat couldn’t get him out even when the skin on his fingers was all shrivelled. Ah, good times!”

Of course Jon doesn’t answer, but there is a little vein throbbing on his forehead that seems to indicate pending anger. Theon babbles on and on, watching in satisfaction as Jon’s lips tighten into a thin angry line, his face is reddening, surely he’ll explode any minute now--

“Sam has a computer,” Jon says, interrupting the long and woeful tale of Theon’s fruitless hunt for the perfect black jeans. “You can go and ask him if he lets you play with it. Update your hookup profile or something.”

And with that he gives Theon a short look of heartbreaking disinterest before getting up and marching out. His voice had been totally calm, but Theon smirks when the door falls into the lock a little too forceful. Sam, eh? He’ll ask Gilly tonight if that’s okay. 

***

_ He’s unbelievable!!! The most obnoxious, self-centered, irresponsible git that ever walked the earth! I haven’t had a hot shower in ages! I don’t know why Robb has sent him here but slowly I’m starting to think it’s to punish me for something. Get a rise out of me.  _

_ And the worst thing - it’s working. I haven’t been this angry for years. I haven’t been this anything. I know you’d be pissed with me, but it’s just so comfortable. Not caring about anything, just this numb fog of one day after the other. I only feel alive when I’m talking to you. Or the little one.  _

_ Now the fog is lifting way too often, he doesn’t stop pestering me and I get angry, it cuts through the haze and my head is clear, and with that comes the pain. I can’t deal with it. I’ve never wanted to gag someone so desperately, not since I first met you. Remember how much you got under my skin? _

_ I don’t want to feel. I just want him to fuck off again and leave me in peace. I don’t want to hurt. I can’t deal with it. It’s been so many years but when the pain comes it’s just as fresh as it was back then. Sansa would say that’s because I never confronted it, but she’s wrong. How could I not have confronted it, being alone of a sudden without you, without my family? _

_ Maybe that’s what Robb wants to punish me for. Ignoring his family. I know they’re my family too but I can’t stand being around them. Their love. They have each other. I have no one, I want no one. I only want you. I only want to get it all done and over with. If it weren’t for them I’d have followed you right away, and they know that.  _

_ Sansa has called today as usual, talked about her boyfriend I think. I didn’t really listen. I never do. I just wish I could tune Greyjoy out as well.  _

_ Love you. So much.  _

_ Jon _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Jon is starting to crack :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of stuff happening in this.

A harsh hand shoving his shoulder wakes Theon from a very nice dream. Unwilling to let it go he tries to hold on to it, the feeling of a hot wet mouth on his, of strong shoulders under his palms, sweat-slicked and muscled, and then it is gone as Theon hits the floor with a painful thump. He blinks, trying to remember where he is. Surely he shouldn’t be on the floor?

“Get up.” An angry huff. “I said, get. Up!”

Slowly Theon rolls onto his back, gazing up at the bed he just fell from and at Jon, resembling a kettle about to explode with steam. This unfamiliar but all the more welcome sight has Theon scramble to his feet rather quickly. Did he do it at last? Did he finally manage to make Jon’s cold blood boil? 

It seems like he’s nearly there, Jon’s hands are clenched to fists, his whole body is a tense line of anger and his usually calm face is sporting a look so murderous Theon starts to think he may have gone a little too far. He takes a quick look at the bed he was supposed to make. Now the sheets are all crumpled and there’s a wet stain on one of the pillows. Theon wipes his chin quickly. 

“You didn’t need to throw me out of bed,” he says accusingly. “I was dreaming some lovely dream and you–”

“You were supposed to make the bed,” Jon hisses, the vein on his forehead throbbing, some strands escaped from his hair tie bristling around his face. “Not make a fucking mess of it!”

“Geez, don’t make such a drama of it. I just happened to be tired. Didn’t sleep much last night. Your martens are having a blast up there.” 

Theon watches as Jon flinches ever so slightly. Ahahaha! Maybe he does know a little more of what is really going on up there! Maybe he even summoned the ghost himself, with candles and spells and a ouija board… Theon shudders at the thought. Some things are better not messed with. 

“You’ll make that again. Fresh sheets.” 

Jon carefully breathes through his nose, obviously trying to rein himself in. Well, Theon can’t allow that. 

“You do that, Horseface. I’m invited to dinner tonight. Have to get myself ready. See you later.”

With a wink Theon leaves Jon in the guestroom, mouth agape at so much insolence. He isn’t even through the door when a wordless snarl echoes after him. Wonderful, Theon thinks, mentally patting himself on the back. Good to know he at least has mastered one thing - being as annoying as possible. 

***

“Thanks for letting me use your computer,” Theon says politely as Sam leads him through his shop into some kind of office. “I wanted to check on something and I really don’t want to crawl up the hill to the castle and then stay there for an eternity while trying to catch a signal.”

“It’s quite alright,” Sam assures Theon. “I already connected you to the modem and we don’t have an actual landline phone, so no disturbances.”

“That sounds like something from a movie set in medieval times,” Theon mumbles. “This village really is out of the world.”

“Well, yes, the hills around… it gives us a unique… people do move here especially for this, you know?”

Theon shrugs. He’d never willingly move somewhere without a decent internet connection, at least not for long term. Right now he’s itching to get back into the online world where everything is easy and anonymous, check his emails and yes, his hookup.co.uk profile. Not that he’d ever say that out loud, but it is a great site for finding casual lays. Maybe he’ll even check his other profile while he’s at it, on the off chance of finding a nice stud out here in the sticks. 

Sam hovers around for another minute before he excuses himself, finally leaving Theon alone. A very long, agonizingly slow search later Theon grits his teeth in frustration. Not that he’s really anticipated to find something, but he’s still disappointed. No cunt or dick to keep him company for a couple hours, to take off the edge, to make him feel good in his body for as long as it lasts. 

Theon already wants to leave it when a new idea strikes him. He opens google and types in a few key words, holding his breath while the results are loading. He clicks on the second link, flinching when pictures of a completely wrecked car start to appear on the screen. He reads the article, reads it again. At the time those pictures were taken they were still inside of that car. It’s horrible, so horrible Theon’s breath hitches, and he quickly returns to the results. 

He finds more articles, from several newspapers, too many to read now. There’s information about everything, the victims, the circumstances, the drunk boy who had caused the accident - the bereaved. A picture of Jon catches Theon’s eye, his face made unrecognizable. But it’s definitely him standing at the side of the road, shoulders hunched as he looks down at a roadside memorial full of flowers and teddy bears. Theon swallows back an unexpected lump in his throat. 

“Sam,” he calls out, “have you got a printer?”

***

“...and then he threw me out and I came here,” Theon says conclusively, taking a bite of a bacon-wrapped sausage.

They’re sitting round a small dining table, barely big enough for three people and the absolute mass of food Gilly has dished up. Everything is utterly delicious and Theon can’t stop eating, despite the button of his jeans digging uncomfortably into his belly. He seems to have picked one of his tighter pairs today. From the living room comes the sound of the telly, and little Sam laughing about something. Theon looks up at Gilly and Sam, trying to read the looks on their faces. Are they hating him yet?

“Why did you do it?” Gilly asks quietly. “You say you love Robb like a brother, then why hurt him like that?”

“It’s hard to explain.”

Especially without revealing way too much about what had happened before, about all the things that had been done to him. It’s not that he blames Ramsay for everything, Theon knows that that would be far too easy. Ramsay isn’t standing behind him and forcing him to whore himself out, to fuck every girl stupid enough to let him, to take every cock that’s presented to him. Theon knows he’s the one doing these things, on his own accord. 

And it was entirely his own choice to go with it when she’d drunkenly crawled into his lap, sticking her alcohol-sweet tongue down his throat. He could’ve pushed her off. He could’ve taken her back to the flat and tucked her in, letting her sleep it off. He didn’t have to sit there, licking her mouth, letting her finger his belt open and take his cock out, he could’ve said stop. 

He didn’t. He fucked her. Fucked Robb’s girlfriend, drunk out of her mind, knowing she wouldn’t have done it when sober, would never have told him all those things that felt so good to hear at that moment. How he’s bigger, how he’s better, how she’s always wanted him, wanted him in the first place. So good, so welcome, to be wanted like that. 

“I just didn’t think. I know it’s no excuse, but I was coked up to my eyeballs… I guess I just didn’t care. All I could grasp was that she wanted me, no rights or wrongs. I didn’t think of who I was hurting for a single second.”

“And now? Do you feel sorry for it?” Sam asks. 

“From the moment I woke up the morning after.” Theon laughs weakly. “I wanted to talk to Robb, apologize, but she’d already been there before me.”

Robb had opened the door of his room and punched Theon in the face before he had a chance to say a word. Behind him Theon had seen her curled up on the bed, sobbing hysterically, gasping out pleas for forgiveness. And Robb had forgiven her. But not Theon. 

“Not that I think I deserve forgiveness,” he sighs, “but I really am deeply sorry for having betrayed Robb like that. I…” It’s the second time this day that Theon has to fight down a ridiculous lump in his throat. His eyes are stinging. “I miss my best friend. And I feel like shit for hurting him.”

“He’ll come around,” Gilly says after a very long silence. “I like you, Theon. You seem like you mean it when you say you’re sorry. Everyone deserves a second chance.” She smiles encouragingly. “Do you still have room for Rhubarb pudding?”

***

**Theon:** I miss you. I am so sorry. I would do anything to have my brother back

_ User not available _

***

Back at the pub Theon pinches a generous helping of scotch and takes it upstairs. Jon is nowhere to be seen - pity, Theon does enjoy riling him up a lot. He’s not that hard to look at when he shows signs of life, if a little stern and severe. But being alone means he can hog the couch and go through the articles in detail.

They’re no less gut wrenching than when he looked through them for the first time. There’s sickening pics of the wrecked car, of Ygritte, of the young man who was just driving home from a market, a little drunk, a little careless… Four lives ruined. Theon feels a twinge of pity for the boy. Eighteen years old. A lifetime of guilt. Two people dead because of him. Three, really.

The picture of Jon again, rigid as a statue. It’s heartbreaking. Theon looks at that one a long time. Jon still looks young there, as he was when Theon knew him. He wishes he could see his face more clearly, refresh his memory and compare photo Jon to the Jon he knows now. 

Theon downs the rest of his drink. It warms him from the inside, like a little fire in his belly, but the thought of his cold room is still uninviting. Jon hasn’t shown his face yet, so Theon decides to stay where he is, near the fire. He fills Loki’s bowls - god knows where that sad excuse of a loving pet is at - and goes to retrieve his blanket, wrapping himself up in it as he stretches out on the couch again. Just for another half hour.

***

“Your master is an alcoholic,” says a husky voice in Theon’s dreams. “And look at the mess he’s made of my living room. Bloody papers everywhere.”

Strange dream, Theon thinks, but then a very loud and very familiar meow shatters his half-asleep state and he sits up with a jolt. The fucking articles! But it’s too late, Jon is already bending down to pick up the ones that must’ve fallen to the floor

“Jon–” 

Theon’s quiet objection stays unheard as Jon stares down at the articles, at the one that shows the car in a sickening close-up picture. His hands are shaking, and when he looks up Theon suddenly feels afraid. Jon looks alive. More alive than Theon has seen him. He’s livid. His eyes are flaring with a ferocious fire, his mouth opens to an inarticulate snarl.

“How… dare… you…”

He’s breathing hard, body tensing as if he’s preparing to strike, to pounce. It’s nearly primal how Theon’s body reacts to the threat that Jon represents in this moment, how a part of him prepares for flight while the rest cowers and tries to diffuse the dangerous situation. Theon’s hands come up on their own, he bows his head, not looking at Jon’s blazing eyes. 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t - it’s none of my–”

“Damn right it isn’t!”

And then Jon leaps, hands harshly fisting in Theon’s jumper as he pulls him to his feet, shakes him, drags him close to hiss right in his face. 

“Leave me alone! Stop pestering me! Stop sticking your nose into my life!”

Theon lets himself be pushed back down, Jon still looming over him, and something about it - it feels like back then, with  _ him _ . But Theon is not who he was back then, and although he deserves this–

“I fucking won’t! The way you live - it’s not even  _ living _ , Jon. You’re a zombie! Just look at you! Do you think she would have wanted you to be like this? Dead but still breathing?”

Jon has gone white as a ghost, trembling with rage. Theon gets up again, stepping into his face. 

“She’s dead. They’re dead and not coming back!! She’s gone, Jon but you’re still here. Live your life, for fuck’s sake!”

“ _ She  _ was my life, you fucking asshole! You don’t know anything, fuck off with your pathetic wisdom! Don’t think I don’t know that!  _ Fuck you _ for this! Fuck you, fuck you, FUCK YOU!!”

And with the last scream Jon’s fist thunders into Theon’s face, his head snaps to the side as pain explodes in his cheekbone. Theon stumbles, catching himself. 

“She’s dead,” he pants, and Jon strikes again, hitting Theon’s jaw this time, sending him reeling backwards. 

“You’re still alive.” Theon forces himself to step closer again until he could touch Jon. He doesn’t. “Live.  _ LIVE!” _

With an anguished roar Jon raises his fist, panting, eyes wide, mouth open. Theon waits for the punch but it doesn’t come. A violent shudder runs through Jon, his chest rising and falling quickly. 

“Go on,” Theon says, “if it makes you feel better go ahead by all means. Or you could stop. Stop, Jon.”

It’s like watching a balloon deflate. Jon’s arm comes down, his face goes slack and his knees buckle, and Theon quickly reaches out to stop him from falling. Jon slumps against him, wheezing, gasping for breath as he’s shaken with dry sobs. 

“I’ll get you to bed, man,” Theon murmurs, and Jon doesn’t protest, he lets Theon steer him to his room where he limply sinks down onto his covers, face hidden underneath his arm slung across it. “Let me know if you need anything,” Theon says. “And for fuck’s sake, get under the covers.”

Jon doesn’t answer, doesn’t move. Theon turns off the light and leaves him alone.

***

_ Waking up hurt this morning and I couldn’t remember why until I saw him out in the living room. Fuck him.  _

_ I miss you. I miss you I miss you I miss you.  _

_ It hurts so much. Ygritte, it hurts. I cannot breathe. I want to kill him. I want to kill him for this. I want to smash my fist into his face until he forgets everything he thinks he knows. Gods, I hate him. For coming here, for forcing me to think. For forcing me to feel. For being right.  _

_ I love you. I love you. I fucking love you so much. Please come back, please. I need you.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any thoughts? Please leave me a comment and distract me from the mess that is the show. Srsly. I'm nearly at the point where I just don't care anymore.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The morning after :p
> 
> Poor Jon is a mess. But hey, he's woken up.

Theon leans his head against the tiled wall, letting the hot water trickle down on his face. It still smarts, cheek and jaw bruised and tender. Jon has a mean right hook. He’s not shown up yet, probably on his morning walk. Slowly Theon reaches for the tap, turning it off. The image just won’t leave his mind, Jon’s anguished eyes, his obvious pain. It really had been a dick move to fall asleep with the articles where Jon had been able to find them.

Theon sighs. He’ll apologize. Maybe he can put this right somehow, shut his trap for a few days and give Jon time to stomach all of it. But then, maybe now is the perfect time to really dig the finger in the wound, keep it open. Keep Jon on edge. Any emotion seems better than none at all, really. Maybe he can– A loud thump startles him, it sounds like the bathroom door closing and quickly Theon sticks his head out of the shower. No one there.

He finds Jon down in the pub after getting dressed, taking breakfast orders from a man who seems vaguely familiar. Theon quickly marches through to the kitchen, not keen on displaying his clobbered face. It doesn’t take long for Jon to follow him. He doesn’t look at Theon, taking out a rectangular grill pan and placing it on the hobs. For a moment Theon watches him in silence as he takes stuff out of the fridge and starts on a fry-up. The silence is heavy and Theon takes the paper Jon has written the order onto.

“I could make the toast,” he offers.

A quick side glance and Jon nods. “Don’t burn it,” he says. “Roose likes it toasted on the light side.”

Theon nods, getting to work on the temperamental toaster. He does get the first batch too dark, lost in thought. Roose. He’s heard the name before, he’s sure, but no matter how hard he thinks he just cannot grasp it. It’s an unusual name. The second batch comes out slightly golden and Jon takes the slices out to the table. Theon peers after him. From the kitchen he can see the man’s profile, and the familiar feeling grows.

Jon says something to Roose before coming back and frying two eggs. One he places on the already full plate sitting on the hotplate, the other one he slides onto a separate plate sitting aside. He shovels a few spoonfuls of beans onto it, then a slice of bacon. Theon watches him, slightly baffled. Does that Roose person eat two different breakfasts? He’s about to ask when Jon slides the smaller plate across the counter, right at Theon. Theon blinks.

“Shall I take that out?”

Jon doesn’t answer, pouring two glasses of orange juice. He seems to debate with himself, shoulders hunched and tense, but then he turns to Theon with a jolt, holding out one of the glasses. Theon takes it, too surprised to say anything.

“Breakfast,” Jon says, sounding as if the word hurts him. His face is pained too. “Eat that.”

“I’m not sure I should chew too much right now,” Theon says slowly. Jon is making him breakfast? “Hurts like a bitch even when I talk.”

“Then don’t talk,” Jon says curtly, taking Roose’s breakfast and disappearing through the door.

Theon stares after him, only to flinch when Jon comes barging in again not a second later it seems. His brows are gathered, mouth a tight line, his hand reaches out and Theon involuntarily takes a step back. Jon rolls his eyes, placing something on the counter before leaving again. Theon looks - and feels a smile creeping onto his lips. Quickly he snatches the Ibuprofen and swallows them with a gulp of orange juice, then goes to the door. Jon has sat down at the man’s table and they talk in low voices.

Something about the way the man holds himself, the way he moves his shoulders when talking… it’s there, fluttering on the edge of Theon’s mind, out of his reach. Then he flinches when Jon looks directly at him, raising an eyebrow. _Eat,_ he mouths, and when the man turns around to see where Jon is looking at Theon flinches back. Those cool, blue eyes… so strangely familiar. Shaking off the thought Theon finally goes to carefully eat his breakfast.

***

Theon leans against the bar, watching the few guests contentedly chatting with each other. Everyone is provided with drink and food, no one wanting anything. He’s proud of himself. After that Roose person had left Jon had brought his plate back to the kitchen, mumbling something about driving to Darlington to get groceries. Theon had nodded, careful to look his usual lazy self. And the moment he’d heard the car start Theon had leapt into action.

He grins smugly when thinking of Jon’s return a few hours later, face shuttered and drawn, laden with half a dozen Morrisons bags. How he’d thrown Theon, lounging about in the kitchen while Gilly had been prepping dinner, an unsurprised look, shoulders sagging. How he’d trudged up the stairs tiredly, presumably off to do the guest rooms. Theon chuckles internally. Too bad he hadn’t been up to see Jon’s face when he realized everything was already done.

Right now Jon is off somewhere, storing away his shopping or staring gloomily at a wall, and Theon has the pub to himself. And he’s doing well. So well even Davos has noticed, coming in for his usual half an hour earlier.

“Yer doing well, lad!” he says, taking a long sip from his pint. “Told ye, it only takes time.”

“I’ve been told I am a slow learner,” Theon says lightly, pushing himself off the bar when he sees a lady emptying her glass. “But I do learn.”

“When yer done with that I’d like another double,” Davos calls after him.

“Another one?” Theon asks curiously as he sets the glass down in front of Davos. “That’s unusual.”

“Ken me already, do ye?” Davos grins. “Aye, I’ve been a wee bit maudlin today. Naught too bad, just the time of the year.” He sighs deeply. “And of course the big hunt is gettin’ closer and I just can’t stomach it. The older I get, the more sentimental I am.”

“Hunt?” Theon asks, taking a quick look around to see if anyone needs him before sitting down. “What hunt? Aren’t you the hunter around here?”

“Aye.” Davos frowns, stroking his beard. “But I shoot ‘em because it’s necessary for the environment. I kill them quickly, not too many. There’s a quota I have to meet. But _this_ hunt…” The frown deepens, he looks almost angry. “They do that one for fun.”

Theon tilts his head, not quite getting it and Davos groans.

“Fox hunt, lad. Fuckin’ lords on their horses with their packs of hounds. Chevying that poor animal until it is almost mad with fear, then letting the hounds tear it apart. Just for sports.”

“That’s… awful,” Theon says, swallowing.

He’s heard of such things of course, but has never given it much thought. It’s not something the upper class does where he’s from. No foxes on the Iron Islands. Father’s hobby horse is falconry. The image of a scared little fox suddenly surfaces in Theon’s mind, the animal shivering and cowering while the dogs come closer, their bloodlust barks filling the air, no way out–

“Oh god,” Theon groans. “That’s so horrible!”

“Aye,” Davos mutters dolefully. “Aye, it is.”

***

Theon can’t stop thinking about it the rest of the night. When Jon comes back to the pub Theon is glad to escape to Gilly in the warm kitchen. She’s saved him a large bowl of hearty soup and a small loaf of incredibly soft bread.

“You’re too good to me,” Theon says as he chews carefully. “Jon fed me in the morning but this is better than crisp toast and bacon.”

“He made you breakfast?” Gilly’s puzzled look speaks volumes. “Wow. He must feel really guilty.”

“He made some for a guest anyway,” Theon tells her. “And hey, I deserved the punch. Punches,” he adds, tenderly prodding his sore cheek.

“You should go and get some rest. Maybe refrain from provoking him for tonight, yeah?” Gilly shakes her head. “Poor Ice. You must be getting under his skin quite thoroughly to lure him out like that.”

When Theon comes out the pub is empty save for Jon. He’s writing in his book, starting when Theon addresses him.

“Hey, you need anything? If not I’m going upstairs. Long day.”

“No, I…” Jon blinks. “I’ll just finish this and then I’ll be going to bed.”

With a little wave Theon climbs the stairs. Upon opening the door to the flat he’s greeted by an extraordinary sound: a welcoming meow.

“Hey,” Theon coos, crouching down as Loki strolls towards him. “Are you speaking to me again?”

Giddy with relief Theon reaches out, stroking a finger across Loki’s head. And is rewarded with a bite.

“Ouch!” He jumps up, rubbing his finger and glaring down at Loki who’s now rubbing against Theon’s leg. “Alright, you little monster. No touching yet, got it.”

“Mew,” Loki says, tail twitching.

But he does find Theon on the couch once he’s eaten his dinner, sitting down next to him. Theon watches him silently, amused. He knows what’ll come next. And he’s right, Loki starts stretching inconspicuously, one hind leg then the other, then both forelegs, growing longer and longer and longer until suddenly the whole cat snaps back together into a nice loaf shape, right in Theon’s lap.

“Yes, I’m sure that was an accident,” Theon says as Loki gives him an astonished glance. “You’re totally surprised you ended up here, right?”

Loki doesn’t answer, turning his little head away from Theon and resting it on his paws. The warm weight of him feels so comfortable. He’s missed this. Theon’s eyes grow heavy, he yawns. He should go to bed, but no force on earth can make him move now, not when he has at least one of his best friends back.

***

“Greyjoy. Greyjoy!”

Theon mumbles crossly.

“ _Theon!_ ”

Theon’s eyes fly open, he sits up hastily, heart beating fast. He’s dreamed of something, but it’s slipping away already. Slowly he stretches his legs, noticing that the warm cat in his lap is gone. Theon twists his head, gaze falling on Jon standing beside the couch. He looks knackered, and a glimpse at his watch tells Theon it’s nearly two am.

“Don’t you want to go to bed?” Jon asks, brows gathering. “Or have you fallen asleep sticking your nose into my life again?”

“What life,” Theon answers grumpily, rubbing his cheek and flinching at the sudden pain. “Ow. And no, won’t risk you taking a swing at me again. I’m quite fond of my face.”

Jon sighs. “Sorry about that. I shouldn’t have…”

“Nah, _I’m_ sorry.” Theon offers a weak smile. “You were right. It’s none of my business. But, you know, I knew her a little, and I used to know _you_ back then and.” He shrugs. “It just seems such a waste. You shutting yourself off like that.”

It’s silent for a very long time, but then Jon huffs and slumps down on the couch.

“I know. I know that. She’d give me hell for letting myself become this…” He gestures at himself. “...for cutting everything off. But if I don’t - you’ve no idea how much it hurts. Still. After so many years… I thought it would be… duller. Not as crushing.”

“You never allowed it to dull, did you?”

“No.” Jon shakes his head. “I just pulled the fog down and suffocated everything. And now you come and ruin it and I’m hurting as much as I have when it happened. I hate you for that. I want my peace back.”

“Then I’ll smash it again.” Theon swallows. Jon’s hands are trembling in his lap and somehow Theon suddenly feels the ridiculous urge to hold them. “Go on and hate me, I don’t mind. Hate is better than nothing.”

At that Jon nearly smiles, not really, just a curt twitch of his lips, but it is _there_.

“You’re an odd guy,” he says. “Were you always this stubborn? I can’t remember. I only remember you being a prick. A funny one, sometimes.”

“Mostly.” Theon bites his lip. Fuck it, he thinks, and reaches out to cover Jon’s hands with his. “But I’m not the unapologetic ass I used to be. I’m really sorry for your loss, as trite as it sounds.”

Jon glances down in surprise, a faint flush creeping into his cheeks. “I… thanks,” he mutters, hands stiff under Theon’s palm. But he doesn’t pull away until Theon does.

The air is heavy around them, neither looking at the other. Theon searches his mind for something to say, something to distract them.

“Hey, who was that guy this morning?” he finally asks. “He seemed familiar but I couldn’t place him.”

“What? Oh.” Jon looks up, slightly confused. “You mean Roose? I don’t think you know him. He’s my landlord.”

“Landlord!” This is a surprise. “I thought the pub belonged to you.”

“No, I’m only renting it from him.” Jon rubs his eyes. “He owns half of Thornby. Local nobility.”

“Nobility?”

“Yeah.” Jon throws Theon a dubious glance. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed the huge ass castle around?”

“Bolton Castle?” Theon asks faintly, a dreadful cold creeping into his stomach and spreading through his body. “ _Roose Bolton?”_

Jon nods, still looking somewhat sceptical. “I thought you knew. The Pub’s official name is _The Bolton Arms._ ”

Theon bites his cheek to suppress a hysterical giggle.

_My father is a lord._

_One day I’ll inherit his castle._

_My old man Roose would like you, I’m sure._

Roose Bolton. Ramsay Bolton’s father.

***

_God, I’m tired. I’m so tired, love. I’ve tried to pull the numbness back but it just won’t come. It’s draining me. I can hear you, you know? Whispering in my heart. Telling me, suck it up, buttercup, be a man. Live._

_You and Theon._

_He’s been astonishingly helpful today. Has made the guest rooms while I was out and managed the pub for nearly the whole evening without fucking anything up. I think he feels bad about what happened. I know I do, for lashing out at him. You’d be proud of me, his jaw shimmers in all the colours of the rainbow. His cheek too._

_Roose has been in for breakfast and then I met him again in Darlington, him and his son. They were getting out the invitations for the hunt. (Poor Davos is already in pieces over it.)_

_I have to say, Roose’s son - Ramsay - seems totally normal, not at all like the monster I expected from the rumours. He smiles a lot, a little sinister but I think that’s just how he looks. Very dark. Tall, broad chest and shoulders. He’s got the exact same eyes as Roose._

_I should go to bed. Talked to Theon when I found him asleep on the couch. It was okay, he didn’t seem like the jerk he acted the last weeks, the one I vaguely remember from when we were kids. He’s gone to bed now, all of a sudden he seemed totally out of it, muttering about needing his beauty sleep before he nearly ran away. No idea what that was, but then I’m not in the right mind to worry about him._

_I love you, Ygritte. You and our girl are my world._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaah, those Boltons. Forever making trouble.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Attention, guys! Some spoilers for S08E05 in my end notes!

Theon is still mostly asleep when he staggers into the bathroom, fumbling for the string to start the boiler before walking back into the living room where he makes himself a cuppa, dozing off as he leans against the cabinet. What a night. First he fell asleep on the couch, then the talk with Jon and the horrible revelation of Ramsay having a connection to this place… Not much sleep to be had after that. And around five am the martens had started their partying again, louder than ever. If this is indeed a ghost, Theon thinks vaguely, it must be a poltergeist. 

He drags his ass into the shower, finally able to relax under the hot stream of water. Eyes closed, he fumbles for his shampoo bottle and starts soaping his hair. The bathroom door banging startles him and Theon yelps in shock as the cabin door flies open and a hand wraps around his wrist like steel. 

“Not today you aren’t.”

And before he can comprehend what’s happening Theon finds himself on the bathrug, dripping wet and thick droplets of suds running from his hair. Baffled, he stares at the closing shower door, getting just a glimpse of Jon’s naked arse before it slides shut with a dull thud. What the fucking fuck has happened just now? 

Theon shudders in the cold air of the bathroom, hastily grabbing a towel and huddling into it. 

“Jon?” he calls tentatively. “This is a joke, right?”

A long, satisfied  _ aaaah _ is all the answer he gets. Theon blinks. Jon has stolen his shower.  _ Jon has fucking stolen his shower!!!  _ He doesn’t take long, at least, the fucking bastard. Theon is still staring at the shower door, not believing what just happened, when it opens and Jon emerges in a cloud of steam. He’s not looking at Theon as he steps up to the fogged mirror. Theon does look. And as inappropriate as time, place and object are he can’t help but notice.

Jon has a very fine arse. 

Theon fiercely scolds himself for even thinking of that right now, but he can’t prevent his gaze from slipping again. Jon doesn’t seem to care at all that he’s stark naked anyway. He just casually towels his hair dry before wrapping the same towel around his waist and relieving Theon from the distracting view. 

“There’s still enough hot water left,” Jon mutters and Theon’s eyes snap up to his blurred face in the mirror. It’s exhausted and weary, but not yet back to the former emptiness. “Get on with it,” Jon adds with a jerk of his chin. “You can take the morning off, I’ll handle breakfast myself.”

“Oh,” Theon says, flabbergasted. “Alright then.” 

Jon makes no move to leave, instead starting to brush his wet, tangled hair with brisk strokes that have Theon cringe in sympathy. That has to hurt, by the sound of it. He watches him tie his hair back into a little knot in his nape, water droplets still running out of it. When Jon takes his toothbrush from the mirror cabinet, Theon realizes Jon isn’t going to leave. Oh, whatever. Shrugging, he drops the towel and stalks into the cabin. If even Jon Horseface isn’t prudish about nakedness… Theon won’t be either. 

***

He decides to use his free time for a visit to Sam’s shop with the vague idea of reading up on ghosts and Yorkshire folklore, anything to distract himself from the thought of Ramsay lurking somewhere and the rather random flashbacks to Jon’s arse. And after Theon tells Sam what he’s looking for the books in his arms start piling alarmingly fast. 

“I’m sure I had… if you could just wait one moment… I think it could be… there it is! Oh wait, I believe I have a volume of… oh no, that’s about traditional farming… sheep… Do you like animals?”

Sam’s head descends from behind a low shelf, red-cheeked and beaming.

“Well, yes,” Theon says cautiously. “I do have a cat. I like most animals.”

“Wonderful! Oh,  _ there _ it is!”

Sam dives down again and after another twenty minutes Theon dumps his bounty on the counter.  _ A Gazetteer of Yorkshire Ghosts, Ghosts and Hauntings of Yorkshire, Ghost Stories from the Dales, Ghosts and Gravestones of Haworth, Mythical Creatures and Apparitions in Yorkshire, A Spectre on the Moors, The Barguest and other Beings, Yorkshire Folklore _ \- and…

“A bible?” Theon asks, peering down in disbelief on the thick tome Sam is packing on top of everything. “What the fuck do I need a bible for?”

“Protection?” is Sam’s answer, said in a tone as if it’s completely obvious that one would need a bible when reading about ghosts. “Can’t hurt to have one at hand,” he continues. “And maybe some salt. Gilly could tell you–”

“Whoa!” Theon raises his hands. “Hold your horses, mate. I’m not going to summon a fucking ghost, I’m just… interested. In local stuff.”

“Haworth isn’t exactly local,” Sam points out, fishing the book from the pile. 

“Brontë country. I like those stories.” Theon shrugs. “Maybe I’ll go there next Monday if Jon lets me borrow his car. See the parsonage. Now what do I owe you?”

“Aw, come on, I can’t let you pay for those.” Sam starts loading the books into a paper bag. “They’re not in a pristine condition and you’re nice to Gilly and you help out Ice…”

“Jeez, just tell me how much.” Theon rolls his eyes. “Gotta spend my money on something.”

“Oh, alright, thank you. That’d be fifty then, please.” Before Theon can protest Sam runs off into the depths of the store, shouting over his shoulder. “The bible doesn’t count, it’s just a loan. You can give it back when you leave here.”

Sighing, Theon places the money on the counter, waiting for Sam to come back. When he does he holds a battered, worn book in his hands, shoving it into Theon’s paper bag.

“A gift,” he beams. “As a thank you.”

Theon wants to protest, but there’s really no way to refuse if he doesn’t want to offend Sam. Laden with the bag he leaves the shop and trudges to the little church. He finds a bench in the churchyard that seems decently dry and sits down, opening his bag. And curses when he sees what book exactly Sam has packed on top. 

_ Wuthering Heights. _

Fuck this, he really needs some distraction. Preferably in the form of sex.

***

“Are you going to be staying around here for a while?”

Theon smiles widely, but he knows the smile doesn’t reach his eyes and the woman seems to sense it too. She answers politely but there’s no vibe of interest, so Theon collects her empty glass and heads off again. Better concentrate on the young man who came in half an hour ago. Theon only took one look at him to know where the wind blows from. So he wanders over as if by accident, straightening a place mat on the table next to the guy’s. 

“You need anything?” he asks lowly, letting a suggestive undertone filter into his voice. “I’m quite good at mixing drinks. Most things, really.”

The guy blushes, his huge dark eyes widening as he regards Theon with a soft smile. 

“I’m about to leave,” he says. “Maybe I’ll see you around sometime when you’re not working?”

_ Pretty _ . He’s really pretty with dark curls framing a delicate face. He glances at Theon from beneath thick lashes, shy and sweet, and Theon feels the smile slipping from his face. This is wrong. He doesn’t want this. He’s so sick of it, all of it. Pulling, fucking, blabbering excuses. This boy here seems gentle and hopeful, and suddenly Theon hates himself. He clears his throat, taking the empty glass from the boy’s table.

“Yeah, I’m really busy with work,” he mumbles, not looking at the boy. “Jon needs a lot of things to be done around here and I’m really quite busy–”

“Hey, that’s fine.” The boy’s voice betrays only a hint of regret. “I’m sure Ice is glad you’re here. He could definitely use a break.”

Shoulders hunched around his ears Theon slinks off, putting the glass onto the bar before throwing himself on a chair at Davos’ table. 

“What was that?” Davos asks, mildly curious. “Ye weren’t hitting on Satin, right?”

Theon shrugs, smiling wearily when Mel comes to put her grey snout on his thigh. She looks at him soulfully and he pets her silky ears. 

“If ye want my advice, leave ‘im alone,” Davos goes on. “Poor lad, that one. Came here about two years ago with an older guy. Quite the scandal, I can tell ye. People are a little backwards around here. And then his lover dumped the lad and fucked off and now he’s stuck here.”

“That’s not very nice,” Theon mutters. 

“No. S’not as if anyone would outright say something, and they don’t mind him working at the Shears - the hairdresser’s,” Davos explains upon Theon’s quizzical look. “But he doesn’t have many friends. People are… suspicious. Stupid.”

“I didn’t mean to mock him,” Theon says quietly. “I just… I don’t know why I do it. I just can’t seem to stop myself.”

“Well, can’t help ye there, can I? Maybe ye could think about it. What it is yer wantin’ to achieve with hitting on everything that moves. Yer clearly not enjoying it.”

“I’m not,” Theon confirms, keeping his gaze trained on Mel’s head. “I just want some peace. Maybe something meaningful, in time.”

“In time,” Davos echoes, raising his glass.

***

“Theon?”

Theon barely looks up at Jon from his task: writing tomorrow’s specials on the large blackboard beside the bar. It’s one of his regular jobs, among the many he and Jon have divided between them after the big blow-up and subsequent talk. It’s been two weeks since then, two weeks of some kind of truce. They work well together, and most of the time Jon seems okay, if tense and withdrawn. There’s still a lot of silences between them, but Jon responds when being talked to, sometimes even starting a conversation by himself. 

They don’t talk about any deep stuff, nothing about Ygritte or Jon’s feelings. Theon talks about the Starks a lot, about what they’re up to. Considering how Jon talks to one of them every day he’s astonishingly uniformed. Theon had grinned when Jon had told him of their rotating calls. Robb on Fridays, Sansa Saturdays, Bran on Sundays and so on. To check if he’s still alive, apparently. So typically Stark. It’s a sad thought, that Jon is rejecting their efforts, although of course it makes sense. 

Sometimes Theon talks about himself, not too often. He’s trying to follow Davos’ advice, trying to steer clear of flirting. It leaves him strangely hollow, restless. But it also feels good. A relief. And Jon really can’t find out how fucked up Theon is. He’d rather Jon see him in a more positive light. Annoying but still cool.

“Gilly has left her phone.”

Theon hums absentmindedly, concentrating on his writing, trying to make it legible. It’s late, must be after eleven pm already. The guests have gone and they’ve been cleaning up in companionable silence. So whatever can Jon be whining about now? 

“I don’t think she’s got a landline,” Jon continues, and Theon sighs distractedly.

“Just call her on her cell then,” he mutters. 

He writes two more words until he notices the dead silence following his remark. Slowly Theon becomes aware of what exactly he’s said, he turns around with an embarrassed smirk, setting the chalk down - Jon is holding the phone in his hand, his face a stunned mask - until all of a sudden a muscle twitches in his cheek, his lips part - and then he’s laughing, really laughing, his eyes crinkling at the corners, his head thrown back, and Theon’s chest tightens as he watches Jon’s suddenly so different face. 

He’s fucking beautiful.

It’s like seeing a whole other person. His eyes shine, his cheeks are flushed, and fuck if it isn’t good to see him like that. An image, a vague memory of a young Jon laughing at one of Theon’s stupid jokes shifts in front of real Jon, the same surprise and guilty pleasure on his small face as Jon sports now. He looks alive. 

Theon wants to kiss him so badly.

The thought catches him by surprise, like an electric shock hitting him straight in the gut. Kiss him?  _ Jon? _ Jon Horseface now known as Ice Stark? Theon’s hands twitch at his sides, as if having a will of their own, and what they want is to touch, run his fingertips over Jon’s lips, feel the smile under them and capture it forever. 

This cannot be happening. 

There are only a few steps separating them and it would be easy, so easy, to just go over and let his hands and mouth carry out what they want so desperately. It’s so out of the blue it’s all Theon can do to stay put, balling the traitorous hands to fists to prevent him making a stupid, stupid mistake. 

The moment is over so quickly, the light extinguished again, and Jon sighs heavily, running a hand over his hair, brushing a few strands escaped from the tie behind his ears. His mouth isn’t smiling anymore, but it’s more relaxed than usually, soft and plump, and so kissable. The world feels as if it has been lifted from its hinges, spinning and wobbling. Theon needs to sit down.

“You’re an idiot,” Jon says, and there’s a new warmth to his voice that makes something flutter in Theon’s stomach, something new and exciting - and utterly terrifying. 

He needs to leave. 

“I… I’m going to… storage… bottles of wine…” 

Theon takes a step back, another, watches Jon’s brow furrows in confusion - he’s still so pretty, even with that light gone again, and how could Theon have ever  _ missed _ that? He looks at him as if he hadn’t seen him every fucking day for the last two months, taking in all that he’d been blind to before. Fucking beautiful. Without another word Theon flees, leaving Jon behind, heart beating like a jackhammer. 

How can this be happening to him?

***

_ Hey, love.  _

_ I met Roose’s son again this morning, on my walk. He was out with three gigantic hounds, unleashed. I hope they don’t cause trouble. He was friendly. Went part of the way with me, asking a lot of questions.  _

_ I finally got back the upper hand over my own shower! I could almost hear you laughing when I pulled Greyjoy out of the cabin. You’d have loved the way he spluttered and gawked, totally surprised. Remember, love? How we used to prank each other? Seems I still have some of it left in me after all.  _

_ Another thing I noticed. You’ll be mad. My hair is a fucking mess. You know how I do it these days, wash, brush, tie back and have it out of the way. Couldn’t cut it without you coming to haunt me, right? Well, I made the mistake of looking in the mirror when it was still loose today and nearly had a heart attack. It looks horrible! Limp and wavy and strawy - I need to buy some conditioner.  _

_ Do I hear you laugh? Jon and his hair. I’ve neglected it too long, didn’t I? I can’t anymore, not when I don’t get my fog back. I think I still want it back, but a small part of me is getting used to how it feels. Alone and in pain, always there in the back of my head.  _

_ I have to go, Greyjoy is down on his own and dinner rush will start soon. I’ll finish writing later. _

_ Love you! _

_ P.S. Oh my god. _

_ Did you hear me? Did you see? I didn’t mean to, it just happened. His face, Ygritte, his face! He looked so flabbergasted I couldn’t help myself, it just broke out. And god, but it felt so good. For just a second I felt like I did when everything was still alright. Before you left me.  _

_ It didn’t last long, and then it all came back. I’m glad Theon left when he did. I didn’t want him to see me like that, gasping for breath and moaning as if stabbed. I swear that was the worst pain ever since I realized you and the little one were really gone. It still stings right now, dulled but present. _

_ I know you’d be shaking your head, glowering at me. Naught wrong with a good laugh, you’d tell me. But it feels wrong. It felt good, and feeling good feels wrong. How can I possibly feel good when you are not here anymore?  _

_ He made me laugh. I wonder what it is about him that gets through to me so easily. I’m scared he’ll do it again. Make me laugh. Make me feel as if things were okay. I know they aren’t. They can never be.  _

_ Love you, so much. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coincidence! I actually think this episode was rather good. Cinematic. I was one of those who suspected from early one Dany was going to be an antagonist. It still breaks my heart. Mostly for Jon. 
> 
> I FUCKING LOVE JON SNOW!!!!!! 
> 
> There, had to be said. 
> 
> Now we can throw the dice who gets her. Jon? (God I hope they don't do that to him) Arya? Tyrion? Dany herself? Oh well. 
> 
> SHOUT OUT FOR CLEGANEBOWL!!!! 
> 
> Okay, erm. Any thoughts on this ch? It took me eight (!!!) chapters to finally get a romantic side into this and it's Theon to fall first. What are the odds. 
> 
> Welcome to the slowest slow burn I ever created XD


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi on a very lazy Thursday... I'm off work yay :)
> 
> Get ready for some pining Theon! Oh and Ramsay.

It’s a lot to take in, all of it. That night - after what Theon had dubbed the day of doom - he’d been nearly comatose from the sheer intensity of what had happened, from the onslaught of scary feelings. He’d gone to bed early, not reacting when Jon had shot him a questioning glance. Too much. For a very long moment Theon had contemplated to just pack up and fuck off, to any place that isn’t named after his ex, to any place that doesn’t contain Jon and his beautiful laugh. 

The need to kiss him grows stronger with every moment spent in Jon’s company, with every time Jon almost-smiles. He does it more often now, as if the laughter has thawed something that had been frozen. He smiles at Theon, at Loki, even at Gilly - who’d been so gobsmacked by it she’d completely oversalted the mash she’d been making. 

And each and every one of these little smiles makes Theon’s chest tighten, has his breath hitching, his thoughts going haywire. Whenever they’re alone it’s a constant battle, an overwhelming tension he cannot get rid of, no matter what he does. 

He tells himself that it’s stupid. Masochistic even, having a crush on a guy who doesn’t have room in his heart for anyone but his dead family. A guy who’s never been Theon’s biggest fan, a guy who’s never shown any interest in men at all, a guy who can dissolve all of Theon’s self-established rules with one single laugh: don’t fall for someone ever again. Don’t trust anyone. Don’t  _ feel _ ...

_ Rubbish. _

At times it gets so bad Theon has to leave the room for a moment, just to prevent himself from leaning over and doing it, learning what those lips would feel like under his, getting to know how Jon tastes, the sounds he’d make when having his mouth ravished–

But this most certainly isn’t what Jon wants. Sure, there are moments when he looks at Theon with a warmth that makes him think Jon likes him, that he does care about him, that the thought of being with him isn’t too outlandish. That not all of these kinds of feelings have left Jon for good, along with Ygritte. That maybe he could see Theon in a different light. But then reality sinks in, and Theon feels stupid.

It’s coming over him at the weirdest moments. He’s standing at the kitchen unit and waiting for the water to boil when Jon comes up behind him, reaching around him to grab a pack of sugar, and his breath ghosts over Theon’s neck and suddenly all he can think of is of Jon’s lips on his nape, goosebumps pricking up at the thought. But Jon doesn’t do anything, of course he doesn’t. 

Theon wonders about how it’d be if it were the other way round, if they were something more and Theon had the right to put his hands on Jon’s hips, to nose at his neck to get under the thick curls and to his skin, press little kisses to it, nuzzle into him and breathe his scent, turn him around and claim his mouth… 

He wants to reach over and take his hand whenever they’re sitting on the couch, Jon with his inevitable journal, Theon with nothing to do but pretending to read ghost stories, trying not to stare too much, dreaming of what could be. Theon looks at Jon’s hand holding the pen, visions of lacing their fingers together and rubbing his thumb over Jon’s palm flickering before his eyes until he gives up and bids him a good night.

It’s getting ridiculous, this pining and longing and lying awake under his thick duvet, comfortable enough but still too cold without the warmth of another body beside him, the only sound the wind outside his window and the beating of his own heart. Theon doesn’t recognize himself anymore. He’s not the type for pining after someone like this, for driving himself mad with what ifs. He’s not one for relationships. That much had been clear after he’d left Ramsay.

And yet here he is, having a serious crush on a man who doesn’t want to feel.

***

When he comes down on Friday morning, way too late for breakfast thanks to another night clutching a fucking bible and trying not to shit his pants, the first thing Theon hears is Jon, talking to someone. 

“Everything the usual. Yeah. Doing alright I think. Wait…” 

Jon turns around, phone in hand, raising an eyebrow, his eyes lighting up ever so slightly. Theon exhales, a shuddery breath he didn’t even know he was holding, and something snaps. Everything seems to happen in slow motion. A small pop and Jon and Theon watch the button of Theon’s trousers sail through the air, hitting the floor with a clattering noise. They both stare at it. Dread pools in Theon’s stomach.

“Oh dear.” Jon chuckles and Theon’s head snaps up, he stares at him but it’s already over. “Sure,” Jon says into the receiver, the hint of a smile still in his voice. “Hang on.” He holds out the receiver and Theon steps up and takes it, surprised. 

“Hello?” he carefully says. “Who’s that?”

“What did you do to him?” Robb asks, obviously agitated. “What the fuck did you do just now?”

“You’re talking to me.” Theon notices how hard he’s gripping onto the receiver and loosens his hold. “I can’t believe you’re talking to me!”

“I just want to know what you did.” Robb sounds cold, rightly so, but it still hurts. “Tell me so I can stop talking to you.”

“If you absolutely must know, I think my jeans have shrunk in the machine. They’re too tight. My button popped off. Why is that so important?”

“It made Jon laugh. Jon never laughs.”

Robb’s voice trembles, losing the icy tone, and Theon is just about to use his chance when he accidentally looks over to where Jon is busy setting the tables. And finds him looking back, still with that small smile playing around his lips. 

“Get to work, Greyjoy,” he calls. 

“He does now,” Theon says into the receiver. And hangs up. They have work to do.

***

“See? It isn’t that hard.”

Not that hard… Theon grumpily ties a final knot and gives the needle back to Gilly. The first button he’s ever sewed on in his life, and he’s pricked himself a hundred fucking times. At least his jeans are mended now, whatever good that does him. They’re too bloody tight. As are all his other pairs. Something is definitely wrong with Jon’s washing machine. 

“And as a reward for being so brave and sewing your own button back on…” 

Gilly sets the plate down in front of Theon. It’s practically overflowing with a huge slice of chicken and mushroom pie, mash and vegetables and gravy.

“I think I love you,” Theon moans as he digs in, ducking when Gilly whacks him over the head with a tea towel. “I’m serious, this is outstanding!”

What’s more, thanks to Gilly and a huge chunk of raw cod Theon is firmly back in Loki’s good graces. He even sleeps on Theon’s bed again. Which is a huge relief, in the event of ghostly sounds. Because Loki hears them too, thus proving that Theon isn’t imagining them. 

“When you’re done…” Gilly smiles as she watches Theon eat. “The apple crumble will be right up your alley, and I still have two slices left.”

“Every kind of food is right up my alley,” Theon declares smugly, shoveling another heap on his fork when a loud voice comes drifting in from the tap room. 

“So this is father’s little pub. It’s so quaint! Adorable!”

The fork clatters down onto the plate as Theon’s blood freezes in his veins. No. This can’t be happening. It’s not real. It’s not  _ real!! _

“And don’t you look lovely behind your bar, perfect place for a pretty little thing like you…”

His legs heavy as if filled with lead, Theon gets up and stumbles to the swing door, taking a deep breath and peering through the crack. Cold sweat breaks out all over his skin when he sees the broad shoulders, the overly long black hair reaching down to the collar of an old-fashioned shirt, tucked into black trousers tightly hugging strong thighs. It’s him.  _ It’s him.  _

“What can I get you?”

Jon’s voice is calm, nearly his usual blank tone.

“Oh, let’s see…” The familiar voice, once so welcome, now the worst sound in the world, is sweet, sickly so. “I’ll have whatever you can recommend,  _ Jon.” _

The way he says it, Jon’s name, makes Theon’s skin crawl. He knows that tone, knows it all too well. Ramsay wants something. And there’ll be hell to pay if he doesn’t get it. 

“How about a double  _ Glenlivet _ ? On the house of course.”

“Of course.” Theon hears the smile in Ramsay’s voice. “Can I persuade you to drink with me…  _ Jon? _ ”

“No, thank you. I never drink when I’m still working.”

Jon’s voice has turned cool and a bead of sweat trickles down Theon’s brow.  _ Don’t provoke him, Jon.  _

“Aw, shame. I’ll have to come back sometime when you’re not working then. Get to know you. I bet you’re an interesting man. You have very pretty eyes.”

“Theon?” 

He swivels around to Gilly, desperately pressing a finger to his lips. If Ramsay finds out he’s here… Quickly Theon turns back to the door, cracking it open just a tiny bit more. Jon is pouring Ramsay’s whisky, his face the familiar unmoving mask as he slides it across the bar where Ramsay’s large hand closes around the glass. Theon’s stomach turns as he remembers how those fingers had looked on him, the pain they had caused inside. 

“I think I’ll have something to eat as well. Can’t get drunk, my father doesn’t like it. It makes me… careless.”

Although Theon can’t see Ramsay’s face he knows for sure how it looks right now, how his cruel lips stretch into a grin, how he winks to show that he’s joking. Except that he isn’t. There’s still a long, jagged scar on Theon’s thigh, from that one time Ramsay had been drunk and  _ careless. _

“I think I’ll have the apple crumble. Two slices.”

“I’ll have a look,” Jon replies calmly, coming from behind the bar when Ramsay snatches his wrist.

“I love sweet things,” he says, rubbing his thumb over Jon’s pulse. “I’ve quite the appetite.”

This… Theon shudders in horror as he realizes what it really is that Ramsay wants. It’s not just his usual flirting manner. Not just his usual bullshit. Ramsay wants a piece of meat, and he’s tagged Jon. 

_ Fucking no!  _

“Stay behind the door,” Gilly suddenly hisses at Theon, making him start like a frightened dog. “I’ll get it out.”

And with that she snatches the crumble out of the oven where she’d been keeping it warm and rushes through the door. 

“I heard someone asking for dessert?” she calls cheerfully. 

“What a wonderful service,” Ramsay drawls. “And what a lovely cook. I’m sure it’ll meet my expectations.”

Theon slides down the wall onto the floor slowly. He can hear the meaning behind Ramsay’s words. The things he doesn’t say out loud. 

_ It better meet my expectations.  _

A glimpse of a long repressed scene, of those same words directed at an unimpressed waiter at an upscale restaurant. Ramsay’s expectations hadn’t been met then. But it had been Theon who had paid for it, not the waiter. He’d paid the whole fucking night. Theon presses a hand on his stomach, desperate to keep the food down. The flesh feels soft under his fingers. 

“This is amazing!” Ramsay declares out in the bar, chuckling lightly. “I have to hold on to myself not to dig in like a pig.”

_ Pig,  _ the Ramsay in Theon’s head hisses,  _ Fucking Pig.  _

He makes it just in time to the sink. 

***

_ Hey love! _

_ What a fucking weird evening. Ramsay Bolton has visited the pub. He seems alright, if weird, polite - except for the part where he grabbed my wrist - and obviously trying to establish himself. He liked Gilly’s crumble, so at least he has good taste. Which will sound very presumptuous when I tell you what he did.  _

_ He flirted with me. I swear I’m not making this up. I think it’s the first time ever that a guy has flirted with me. It was so strange. Not the guy part, you know I’m not set on - well, the flirting itself. But maybe that’s just me. I’ve never been good at it, at noticing subtle signs. Remember, you had to slam me into a wall and shove your tongue down my throat before I realized you were into me. _

_ I kind of wish I still had my fog. Damn Theon for stealing it. I wouldn’t even have noticed any of this strange behaviour if I still had it. Not that it was that horrible. Just. I don’t know. Remember what I told you about Ramsay? He’s intense. His eyes are very cool, ice blue, and staring at me as if he wants to peel my skin off. Told you it’s weird, but I could be misinterpreting things. At least he hasn’t done anything too crass.  _

_ And I don’t really want to shoot him down too harshly. He’s my landlord’s son after all. Sure, I could just tell him about you, about my tragic loss. Shuts people up normally. But somehow he doesn’t seem the type I want to tell my secrets. And maybe - weird thought - but maybe he’ll see it as a challenge when I tell him I don’t have anything left to give. He definitely looks like the type to simply take what he wants.  _

_ I’m a little worried about Theon. After Ramsay was gone he stumbled out of the kitchen, clutching his stomach, face somewhere between white and green. Maybe he’s finally eaten too much of Gilly’s food. He blames my washing machine, but I rather think he’s growing out of his ridiculously skinny jeans. No wonder, what with the quantities of food he destroys every day. Not that it’d hurt, he’s starting to resemble a normal human being instead of a stick insect. Man has absolutely no bum. _

_ Anyway, I’ll check on him before I go to bed. If he’s still awake I could make him a cuppa. Chamomile is good for stomach ache. Surprisingly enough he’s not a bad guy to be around. More annoying than anything, but he does make me smile. And it doesn’t hurt that much anymore. To smile. I could get used to it again. _

_ Last but not least, you’ll be happy to hear that my hair is on the road to recovery. Not back to its old glory, but definitely better. I shouldn’t have neglected it like that. You used to love it so much. (Yes, yes, I did too.) _

_ I love you, Ygritte. Can’t you visit me in a dream? I want to feel you in my arms again. I’m so lonely.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo. Thoughts? Ramsay is SO FUCKING URGH.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo. Jon needs to open up, right? Theon needs... something. 
> 
> Ramsay is lurking in the background... for now.
> 
> ATTENTION SPOILERS FOR S08E06 in the end notes!!

Theon watches Jon closely the next days. He hasn’t said anything, but upon waking up right on time for the martens slash ghost party after Ramsay’s first visit to the pub there’d been a cup of ice cold tea on Theon’s bedside table. And unless Loki is a much more capable cat than Theon gives him credit for, it had to have been placed there by Jon. Which had been really nice, and thoughtful, and as much as Theon berates himself it does raise a tiny spark of hope. 

There are other things as well. A smile here, a dry joke there… Jon is comfortable around him. He never flinches back when they touch accidentally. Sometimes he even does it on purpose, a warm hand on Theon’s back when Jon needs to get past him behind the bar, a short tap on the shoulder when he wants to get Theon’s attention, a sharp elbow in the side when Theon angles for the  _ Grouse _ . It’s only little things, things that don’t mean anything. 

They do to Theon though. 

Ramsay had been in two more times, and both times Gilly had taken over service, despite how much she hates it. She never asks why Theon doesn’t want to go out when Ramsay’s here, she just gives him a worried look and goes herself. If she’d ask, Theon thinks, maybe he’d tell her. He hasn’t told anyone. Ash knows a little, she’s the one who drove him to the airport when he left. But she doesn’t know all of it. No one does. Maybe it’d be good, to tell someone. 

Theon takes a careful breath as he balances a stack of empty soup bowls back into the kitchen. Breathing has become somewhat of a chore these days, a high risk activity. He doesn’t want to shoot guests with his trouser buttons after all. It gets to the point where even Jon notices. On Monday morning they’re sitting on the couch together, Theon with the Daily Mail, Jon with his book, when it suddenly becomes unbearable and Theon inconspicuously opens the button of his jeans, sighing a little in relief. 

Jon looks up. “I think you need new jeans.”

“I just don’t fit into these anymore” Theon answers, mortified. “It’s your stupid machine, they always fit perfectly fine before I came here.”

“Before you met Gilly, you mean.”

“Are you saying I’m fat??”

“No.” Jon sighs, returning to scribbling in his book. “All I’m saying is that you need new jeans.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Theon mutters crossly. “And where do you expect me to get them from? Shall I convert a curtain into a lovely pair?”

“You could do that,” Jon answers calmly without looking up. “Or you could stop babbling nonsense and I’ll drive you to Darlington. The Morrisons there has a huge clothes section.”

It’s laughable, really. The simple prospect of going shopping with Jon is enough to make Theon’s heart beat faster. Not wanting to seem too eager he stretches, quickly drawing down his shirt when it rides up his belly. Jon still doesn’t look, but the corners of his mouth quirk up and his voice sounds certainly amused. 

“Maybe some t-shirts too.”

“Fuck you,” Theon says, feelingly, unable to stop smiling to himself when Jon chuckles. “Let’s do this.”

The drive to Darlington isn’t that long, just over half an hour. Theon looks out of the window the whole drive, at the beautiful landscape unfolding before his eyes, captivating despite the grey skies. And it would be rude to stare at Jon instead, a no less captivating sight. Theon still braves a glance every now and then, taking in Jon’s profile, his cute round nose, his cheeks. He even catches himself staring at Jon’s earlobe, wondering what it’d feel like between his teeth. 

At the Morrisons Theon gathers a stack of jeans in his usual size, childishly sticking his tongue out when Jon suggests trying the next bigger one. Only to swear so loud he upsets an elderly man in the fitting cabin next to him when not one of them fits. 

“Told you so.” Jon’s head appears behind the curtain and Theon yelps, holding the too tight jeans like a shield against his lower half. “Oh please,” Jon says, rolling his eyes. “Nothing I don’t have myself. Here, try these. Don’t look at the tag.”

“Out!” Theon cries, waving the jeans at Jon’s head, and is rewarded with a tiny smirk before he disappears again. 

“Nice undies,” is the last thing Theon hears.

With a sinking feeling he looks down. Of course it’s the Peppa Pig ones. Thoroughly humiliated Theon steps into the jeans Jon has given him, and miraculously the zipper goes up without a hitch, the button almost too easy to do. Theon twists and turns as he looks in the mirror. They sit nicely on his hips, not too loose, not too tight, very comfortable.

“I’ll take four of those,” Theon calls out, waiting for Jon’s hum of approval. He’s ready with the jeans and some plain black tees when Theon descends from the cabin. Theon pouts at him. “And could you please remove the size tags once we’re home?”

“Sure,” Jon says, his eyes smiling at Theon, and maybe it’s worth it to get fat when Jon will look at him like this. 

***

“Are you sure there isn’t anything I can do?”

Theon notices how whiny he sounds, but if he doesn’t get to do anything soon to distract him he might simply attack Jon. And get clocked in the face again. Which he’d rather not.

“I’m occupied as you can see,” Jon says, journal firmly planted in his lap. “You could vacuum the flat if you’re bored. Or you could undress and watch your clothes.”

For a moment Theon is too stunned to react, but then he laughs. “Ned used to say that when we complained about being bored.”

Jon looks up, baffled, but after a second he smiles too. “You’re right. I’ve completely forgotten. Rickon took it literally one time, stripped down to his underwear and watched his clothes until Ned came back and nearly had a heart attack. And then he would sigh and say, you’ve got legs and brains and bikes, I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

“Well, I don’t have a bike, Theon says sulkily. “So what do you propose?”

“I propose you let me finish this in peace.” But after writing a few more words Jon sighs and snaps the book shut. “I miss my quiet evenings. I think I have a card game somewhere. Would that be acceptable?”

Twenty minutes later they’re in a heated game of  _ Scabby Queen,  _ quarreling about the correct rules. Theon’s knuckles are already sore from losing. And he has that fucking Queen again. Jon never seems to get a Queen. It’s totally unfair. 

“Do you really miss it?” Theon asks when Jon shuffles his hand. “Being all alone and miserable?”

“What?” Jon looks up, surprised. “I wasn’t miserable. I wasn’t anything.” He sighs and puts his cards down. “Yeah, I miss it. Sometimes. I don’t know how I can explain it to you… It’s as if you’re not whole. As if you’re missing a vital organ. Breathing without your lungs. It’s a constant ache, and it never lets up for a single moment. It’s always there in the back of my head. So of course I want to be rid of the pain again.”

“And right now…” 

“I’m hurting, yes.” Jon smiles weakly. “It isn’t as bad as it was when you ripped the bandage off. But it’s always there. Eating away at me, hollowing me out. The fog was better in a way. It just made me cold.”

“You’re not cold,” Theon protests, folding his hands together so he won’t do anything stupid. Like touching Jon. Feel if he’s warm.

“Don’t think I don’t know what they call me here.” Jon’s hands on the table twitch. “Ice. Just like Ned.”

“He wasn’t cold either.” Theon shrugs. “Just stern. Austere. He only seemed cold. Hell, maybe you do seem cold too. But you’re not hard, no sharp edges. If I’d nickname you…” Theon thinks about it. “I’d go with Snow.” 

_ Or I’d call you baby.  _ A ridiculous thought. 

“Snow, hm? Not bad.” Jon’s smile deepens until his eyes crinkle. “Ygritte would like that.” His smile wavers, his eyes start to shine suspiciously. 

“Do you…” Theon takes a deep breath and finally moves his hand across the table, covering Jon’s. “Would you like to tell me about her?”

Jon swallows hard, turning his hand beyond Theon’s. Their fingers link ever so slightly and he nods. 

“I met her when I was seventeen…”

***

It turns into a ritual. They play, they bicker, Jon talks about Ygritte and Theon listens. And holds Jon’s hand as he tells him how she pursued him, stubborn as a mule. How he fell in love with her. How she was the first who really belonged to him, just to him. Jon laughs when he tells Theon a story of how he’d pranked her on his eighteenth birthday. He squeezes Theon’s hand when he talks about how much he loves her. He cries when he tells him how he had to say goodbye. Theon watches him wipe the tears away with his free hand, wishing he could do it himself.

“What about your…” Theon starts one evening. It’s nearly midnight and they’re still down in the bar, cards forgotten on the table. “What about your… your child?”

It’s chilling, how fast Jon’s face changes from soft and sad to absolutely outraged. He rips his hand back as if Theon were on fire, jumping to his feet so hastily he upends his chair.

“Not that,” he pants, eyes blazing. “Don’t you dare mention her ever again.  _ Not. That!” _

And with that he turns on his heels and storms upstairs, leaving Theon alone, confused and aching. He gives him some time, half an hour, before he follows him. Theon knocks on Jon’s door, waiting for him to open. When he doesn’t, Theon sighs. 

“I’m sorry,” he calls through the door. “I won’t, alright? I won’t mention it again.”

“Thanks,” comes Jon’s muffled voice from behind the door. “I’m going to bed now. Good night.”

“Good night,” Theon says, pressing his hand against the wood for a short moment. 

***

“SOMEONE HOLD HIM!” 

Theon hollers loudly as he races down the stairs into the pub, but despite all eyes turning to him no one moves a muscle to stop the devil in the guise of a cat from his triumphant entry into the room. The ruckus even prompts Jon to come out from behind his bar, frowning when he sees Loki hopping onto a table, making some pint glasses wobble precariously. 

“Aw, aren’t you a cute kitty,” the owner of one of the pints purrs, reaching out to stroke the seemingly harmless cat - and cries out when Loki teleports around and sinks his claws into the daring hand. “Ow, you little–”

“Sorry, sorry,” Theon pants, making a grab for Loki but the cat is slippier than a bar of soap and before Theon knows it he leaps onto another table where he promptly sticks his head in a half-eaten bowl of trifle. 

“Eeeek!” shrieks the woman who had been eating it. “It’s in my fooood!”

“I’ll get you another one,” Jon rushes to assure her. “Theon, will you get your bloody cat under control?”

The noise of glass shattering alerts Theon to Loki’s new position. On the bar. Making short work of a gin bottle Jon has left standing. 

“I’ll tan your hide for that, you monster!” Theon snarls, jumping at the bar with the success of Loki evading his hands again. Behind Theon the door opens, and in come - to his horror - Mayor Baratheon and his daughter and - Theon groans. They have a dog. 

“Mrrrr,” Loki says, ears flat against his head, tail ten times its normal size. “Chrwch!!”

“Loki, no!” Theon shouts, but too late. The cat has already crouched down and pounces, and Theon closes his eyes to avoid witnessing the bloodbath.

“Whoa, whoa, what do we have here?” 

Carefully, Theon opens one eye, then the other as he takes in the scene before him. Mayor Baratheon’s dog is cowering at Shireen’s feet and Loki - Loki is dangling in the air, his legs furiously thrashing about as he fights to get out of Davos’ grasp. He’s got the cat by the scruff of his neck, and while Theon still watches in disbelief he produces his jacket from somewhere and just like that Loki is rolled up nice and tight. Only his head is poking out, his nose a furious red, his eyes promising murder the moment he gets out again. 

“There ye go,” Davos says and holds out the cat-roll to Theon. “Best take him up before he gets through.”

And really, from within the jacket there’s a vicious ripping sound and Theon books it out of the pub before the fucking cat can escape again. It takes him a good half hour of apologizing and getting bitten before he’s able to go down again. Curiously, the only reactions he gets are a few mild looks, some guests even raise their glasses. 

“Okay, what did you do?” Theon hisses to Jon who still looks like a thundercloud. “Did you announce a round on the house?”

“No.” Jon scowls, nodding over at Davos. “He did. He also paid for the gin.”

“Wow. That’s nice.” When Jon’s frown deepens, Theon shoves him with his shoulder. “Come on, Grumpy. No lasting damage, right?”

“Will you fuck off?” Jon hisses through clenched teeth. “I’m trying my hardest not to laugh, okay? Fuck. Off!”

“Oh! In that case…” Theon leans over the bar, balancing on his belly until he’s able to snatch the  _ Grouse.  _ “Thanks, man!”

With the bottle in hand he marches over to Davos and slumps down. “I cannot tell you enough how grateful I am. Where have you learned this neat little wrapping trick?”

“Old friend of mine was a vet here in the dales,” Davos explains. “Good old Alf, he was famous for his cat-wrapping technique. What’s his name by the way? Your cat?”

“Loki.”

“Ah, the God of Mischief. Aptly named, I see.” 

“Yeah, he’s quite a handful. I didn’t even see him when I left the flat and the sly beast squeezed between my legs and down we went.” Theon leans forward and pours a generous amount of  _ Grouse  _ into Davos’ empty glass. “You saved my butt here. They would probably have demanded his head if you hadn’t paid for the reparations. Anything I can do for you as a thanks?”

“Actually…” Davos leans back, thoughtfully stroking his beard. “Ye know, this hunt I told ye about?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, it’s next Sunday, and we do have this little tradition… We meet up front in the church. Nobody’s ever there apart from the vicar and he’s normally drunk. And then we… well, we plan a little…  _ campaign _ .”

“Campaign,” Theon parrots stupidly. “Who’s ‘we’?”

“Sam, Shireen and I. Shireen is the mastermind, Sam and I do the actual stuff.”

“What stuff?” Theon asks weakly. That can’t be good.

“Och, just the usual… anti-fox-hunt-leaflets…”

“Oh, okay.”

“...and this year we want to glue Roose Bolton’s arse to his saddle.”

Theon, carelessly taking a sip of whisky, splutters it all over himself as the liquid gets down the wrong way, nearly coughing his lungs out. 

“You  _ what?”  _ he wheezes, thumping his fist against his chest to get his breath back. 

“It’s a brilliant plan,” Davos assures him. “They’ll never find out who it was. Normally me and Sam are doing the work, but he’s down with a cold and I can’t do it alone. Too many arses, too little time.”

“You want me to glue Lord Bolton’s arse to his saddle.” Oh god, and probably Ramsay’s too! He’d never sit out on an activity that involves hunting and torturing a small, defenseless creature. 

“Aye.” Davos grins appealingly. “Will ye?”

Fuck it, Theon thinks and pours himself another glass, downing it in one go.

“Aye,” he echoes. “Let’s do this.”

***

_ Oh my god, Ygritte!  _

_ I wish you had been here today. Theon’s cat escaped into the bar and caused a near apocalypse. Their shocked looks! I had to arrange my face into the grumpiest mien possible or I would’ve shocked them all even more by collapsing on the floor with laughter. Theon hunting the cat, the fucking look of Mayor Stannis’ idiot dog (it’s a poodle. A  _ toy  _ poodle), and then the look of the cat when Davos got it! I’m still chuckling thinking about it. _

_ Theon and Davos have spent the whole rest of the night whispering with each other and drinking my whisky. I’ll make Theon pay for that - at the next game of  _ Scabby Queen.  _ Not tonight though, he’s already in bed. Snoring like a fucking rhino, I swear i can see his door trembling in its hinges.  _

_ It’s so strange, how fast everything has changed since he’s here. I didn’t even want him coming - and now I catch myself dreading the thought of him leaving again. I hope he stays for the winter. May have to buy a TV though, to keep him from getting cabin fever. Or some more games. Maybe a Monopoly. I’ll beat him anyway. Just like you always beat me.  _

_ Is it bad, love? That I’ve grown so comfortable around him? That I tell him everything about you? He’s a good listener. Wouldn’t have thought that, in my memories he’s always been the one talking. He’s definitely changed. If you’d told teenage me that I’ll be sitting together with Theon Greyjoy one day, pouring my heart out to him while he holds my hand – is that very weird? It feels nice. Safe. Comfortable. Sometimes I think I want to be held. Not that I’d ever say that. But the thought is still there.  _

_ I love you. You and...  _

_ I’m sorry. She hurts too much to think about right now. But I do. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe I'm saying this after all but... what a satisfying last episode after all they got wrong. 
> 
> I'm so so happy for Jon. For once in his life he is surrounded by nothing but friends. He's finally free and his heart will heal in his real home. He'll carry the guilt, but he did the right thing. I love Jon. If you don't - please please don't say so in the comments ^^'


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I'm a day early but I have a full day tomorrow so. Why not. 
> 
> Loss of a child, guys. If that triggers you, proceed with caution. But nothing graphic of course!!! Just Jon, experiencing it.

BAM!!!

Theon sits up with a curse, glaring at the ceiling. He’d just fallen asleep, after worrying about Davos’ fox hunt sabotage - the one he agreed to be part of - and hadn’t even been for three hours before the ruckus from the attic had snatched him out of it. Something sounding like footsteps has Theon’s hairs standing on end, but right now he’s definitely more pissed than scared. With grim determination he grabs the bible from under his pillow and his phone from the bedside table, shuffling to his feet. 

Enough is enough. 

Seething, he marches out of his room, ignoring Loki’s questioning meow as he stomps over to the door leading to the outside staircase. But instead of going down he takes the one up, climbing the steps without hesitation. If those are really martens up there he’ll give them the shock of their lifetime, if it’s Ygritte’s ghost - well, he does actually have a lot to say to her as well. 

Armed with the thick tome Theon arrives at the top, staring at the small door for a moment. His bravery wavers, but then a clattering sound from inside fastens his resolve and, taking a deep breath, he pushes the door open, bible held tightly to his chest, phone flashlight raised - and stops dead. The space he’s stepped into is gently lit, a small lamp painting shadows on the wooden floor, flickering light over shapes and forms that turn out to be pieces of furniture. A dresser. A swing chair. Theon hisses in a startled breath. A crib. 

This isn’t the creepy, dusty room he’s envisioned, no cobwebs or marten poo, no dirty floorboards or rudimentary harled walls, no blindly staring attic window. No, this room seems warm, a small, colourful rug covering the floor next to the crib, Peter Rabbit wallpapers adorning the walls, bright curtains drawn from a small but clean window. Captivated, Theon takes another step into the room, eyes taking in a heap of cuddly toys, a crib mobile dancing lightly in a draft, a small shelf with children’s books…

This is the room Jon’s child would’ve lived in. Theon sways as it hits him. This is the space he’d prepared for his baby, the one from the photo, the one he looked at in such wonder, the one he cannot bear to speak about. Theon swallows against the thick lump in his throat, fighting the wave of sadness rolling over him, the sympathy for Jon nearly suffocating him. He’s been keeping the room ready. Jon is keeping the room ready for a child that will never live here. 

“Oh god,” Theon says out loud. 

And then he screams when suddenly a dark figure starts to rise from the corner where the crib is standing, a shadow growing taller and taller until it’s nearly Theon’s height. With a shriek he hurls the bible with all his might, watching in horror as it hits the ghost with a loud smack. 

“Oof,” it says, clutching at its stomach before stumbling into the light. 

Theon blinks. At Jon, trying to stay upright, grunting in pain as he doubles over, as he raises his head and huffs. They speak simultaneously.

“What the fuck are you doing up here?”

***

“Whatever possessed you to throw a fucking giant bible at me?”

They’re sitting on the rug, side by side, leaning back against the crib. Jon’s face is still all pinched up, Theon notices with a surge of guilt. Must hurt quite a lot. 

“Just a precaution,” he mumbles, embarrassed. Now that he’s found out that Jon is the ghost he feels ridiculous. “You reacted strangely when I asked you about… you know… keeping your mad wife in the attic and - well. I figured it might be her haunting the pub?”

“You’re an idiot.” Jon’s eyes are closed, his head leaned back. “If Ygritte’s ghost were up here I’d never go anywhere else. Besides…” He opens one eye and peers over at Theon. “If I had been indeed a ghost, the bible would’ve sailed right through me and you would’ve shat yourself with fear.”

It’s too true to argue with, so Theon keeps his mouth shut, tilting his head to look at the low ceiling. It’s covered with tiny glow-in-the-dark stars, twinkling and shimmering whenever Theon moves his eyes. It looks amazing. 

“So you’re up here every fucking night?” he finally asks. It’s still somewhat hard to believe. “How many hours of sleep do you even get?”

“I always doze a little when I’m up here,” Jon says. “It’s enough to function. Didn’t matter, being tired all the time. Just made it easier to blend things out.”

“And this is…”

“Her room, yes.” Jon smiles softly. “I had so much fun setting it up for her. Was excited like a kid. And then…” He grimaces, folding his arms around his torso. “I couldn’t get rid of it. It just wasn’t possible. I didn’t come up here for over three years after…”

He’s trembling, and without thinking Theon edges closer. “What made you come up again?” he asks. 

Jon hunches forward, as if trying to keep himself together. It’s painful to watch but Theon doesn’t dare to reach out. He wants to. But maybe Jon doesn’t. 

“You’ll think I’m completely mad.” 

Jon lets his head drop, gritting his teeth. He’s trembling so hard Theon can’t help himself anymore, he slings his arm around Jon’s shoulder, trying to steady him. Jon stiffens, and for a moment Theon thinks he’s gone too far. But then Jon moans, a long, pitiful sound coming from deep within, he goes limp in Theon’s arm and slumps against his side.

“I hear her crying every night,” he gasps, and then the dam breaks. 

Theon pulls him closer, tugging Jon’s head against his neck, stroking his hair. He rocks him slightly back and forth, making comforting sounds that drown in the sheer force of Jon’s pain. And Jon cries. He screams, he wails, he claws his fingers into Theon’s jumper, soaking it through at the neck with a seemingly endless flood of tears. It hurts so much to see him like this, to watch the agony tearing through him, and yet…

The contact feels so good. Nothing has ever felt as good as this, holding Jon in his arms, being an anchor for him, being close enough to smell his hair, his hot tears slicking the skin on Theon’s neck, his body a heavy weight against him, almost in his lap, warm and alive. Jon feels so alive, and the thought emerges crystal-clear from the mess in Theon’s head. 

He’s falling in love. 

With a groan he pulls Jon even closer, pressing his cheek against his hair, stroking his back, up and down in a soothing motion, for minutes or hours, it’s hard to tell. Eventually Jon’s sobs quiet down, his hands loosen their grip, softening. Jon shivers, starting to pull away. It’s a conscious effort to let him. 

“Sorry,” he croaks, voice raw and exhausted. He’s not looking at Theon, moving away a little further, hands hovering in his lap. “I’m really sorry,” Jon says again, and for some reason his cheeks are red, as if he’s embarrassed about something. 

It’s only when he starts tugging at his sweatpants that Theon notices what it is Jon is embarrassed about. Not his outburst. Not his crying. Theon swallows. Jon is hard. 

_ Oh god.  _

It would be easy, to make use of the situation, of Jon’s vulnerable state. He’s completely bare, open and defenseless. His body is showing a misplaced reaction to the closeness, nothing about it is sexual, Theon’s aware. But it could be. He could make it that way. Could kiss Jon, could take advantage of his need, could touch him and fuck him and maybe it’d even help. Distract him. Give him something. It’s not that far-fetched, Theon knows from experience.

“Theon, I…”

Jon bites his lip, eyes red and swollen, and suddenly all Theon wants is to hold him again, reassure him, make him feel safe. He pauses, assessing his own state. And smiles. He isn’t even hard himself. Theon reaches out, plucking Jon’s hand away from his dire situation, squeezing it gently. 

“You look like a mess,” he says, and Jon snorts, a weak half-chuckle. Theon gets up, pulling Jon with him until they’re standing, hands still linked. “Hey,” Theon says. “You never told me her name.”

“Lyanna.” For a split-second Jon smiles before his mouth twists down again, his chest heaving. “After my mum.”

“If you like… you could tell me about her sometime?” Theon strokes his thumb over Jon’s before letting go. “But now I think I’ll get you to bed, man. You can hardly stand.”

“Aye,” Jon says after a pause. “Do you think… Okay, this sounds weird, but. Could you stay? With me?”

“Sure,” Theon says, resigning himself to spending the rest of the night awake. Watching Jon sleep.

Fuck, he really must be in love.

***

Theon watches the guest poke at her breakfast suspiciously. Maybe he shouldn’t have mentioned it’s his first time doing a fry-up, but all in all he’s satisfied with the result. The bacon is crispy, the yolk of the fried egg runny, the beans are hot and the toast is a lovely shade of light brown. Only the tomato he has no idea how to get right. He’ll have to interview Gilly on that. She’s due in an hour, and then he’ll at least not be  _ all  _ alone anymore. 

He hasn’t seen neither hide nor hair from Jon so far, which can only be counted as a victory. Theon smiles to himself as he thinks of how he left Jon at seven in the morning: fast asleep. He’d gently disentangled their fingers, had stolen Jon’s phone and alarm clock, and left him a note.  _ Don’t you dare show your puffy eyes down in the pub today!  _ And seeing as there are no puffy eyes around, it seems Jon has been clever enough to actually do as he’s told. 

When the lunch rush is mostly over Theon sends Gilly up to the flat with some toad in the hole. She comes back after half an hour with an empty plate and a wondrous look on her face. At Theon’s questioning look she just smiles and shrugs. Seems that all is as well as can be, considering the circumstances. 

According to the calendar they have a throng of overnight guests arriving in the evening, so Theon takes great care at preparing the rooms. Robb would have a heart attack, Theon thinks as he’s scrubbing away at a toilet, if he could see him like this. Actually helping. Working. For someone else. And totally selfless on top of it. Well, alright, not  _ totally  _ selfless maybe. Not that Theon thinks scrubbing toilets is a way into Jon’s heart and pants, but. Can’t hurt either way. 

When the day is done and Gilly has gone home Theon is knackered. The pub had been filled to capacity all evening, and Theon had been running his feet off, nearly splitting himself in two to be at the bar and serving at the same time. When he comes up into the flat Jon is nowhere to be seen, but when Theon curiously opens the door to his room he can hear him breathing, deep and steady. At least he’s finally getting some rest. 

Theon returns from a very short, very cold shower - Jon, the beast! - and goes to set his alarm, blinking in surprise when he sees the notifications on his screen. 

_ Two missed calls _

_ Six unread messages _

Sometime during the day he must’ve had some reception. Curious, Theon unlocks his phone. 

 

**Robb:** She’s gone.

**Robb:** Why the fuck aren’t you picking up? Or writing back? Roslin is gone, she ended things. 

**Robb:** I think I’m ready to talk. 

**Robb:** You gotta be kidding me, Greyjoy!

**Robb:** HELLO

**Robb:** Okay, if you want it that way, fuck you!

 

Hastily, Theon opens the window, shivering when a gust of cold air hits his face. Arm outstretched he barely manages to get a signal. 

 

**Theon:** sorry man i was working. jon has taken the day off

 

The answer comes immediately. 

 

**Robb:** Yeah, I know. That Gilly girl told Arya when she tried to call. Jon’d better call her back or I can’t guarantee for anything. 

**Theon:** ill tell him tomorrow hes already in bed

**Robb:** What the fuck is going on there with you two?

 

Theon contemplates that. He could just tell the truth. How he annoyed Jon back to life. And now he’s in love with him. But somehow he doubts Robb would take that too well. Not with Jon’s tragedy and Theon’s non-existent relationship history. Except for Ramsay, of course, but Robb doesn’t know much about that. In the end he settles for the easiest way. 

 

**Theon:** nothing hes just tired. you sent me here to help so thats what i do

**Theon:** you want to talk?

**Robb:** Yeah, I think I’m ready. To talk. I miss you. And I know it wasn’t just your fault. I should’ve talked to you immediately but. I guess I just needed time. 

**Theon:** understandable

**Robb:** So will you? Come home to talk about everything? Your room is still as it was, with all your stuff. 

 

Theon’s chest tightens. It seems Robb is ready to forgive him. To let him apologize properly. He can go home. Leave this dreary place. Run away from Castle Bolton and its fucking inhabitant before he’s even laid eyes on Theon. He could get out of the whole fox hunt sabotage thing. He could have his best friend back. It’s tempting as fuck. 

But it would mean letting Davos down big time. He doesn’t want that, doesn’t want to disappoint him. Theon sighs. And Jon. Would Jon still be okay? Would he keep going, would he laugh and live and talk about things? With whom? Who would listen? Who would let himself get fucked over at every card game under the sun? Who would help Jon with the work? Theon looks down at his free hand not holding the phone. Who would hold Jon’s when he needs it? Theon smiles to himself as he recalls how good it felt.

He should leave. This is going nowhere, these feelings are nothing but a masochistic, miserable shit show that can only end in one way. It’s not as if Jon is at all ready for anything like that. Maybe he’ll never be. Theon shakes his head. He cannot linger here forever, hoping for Jon to open his heart again. It won’t happen. He should go, sort things out with Robb and resume his old life. 

The mere thought of it makes Theon sick.

“Hey…” The husky voice in Theon’s back startles him, he turns around and there’s Jon, rubbing his eyes drowsily. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to get a reception,” Theon says. “Did I wake you?”

“Nah, I just woke up. Thought I’d heard…you know.” Jon shrugs, visibly uncomfortable. “Sorry. Can’t help it. But. You should go to bed, I’m sure you’re tired.”

His eyes say something different though, and it isn’t really a hard decision. 

“If you give me a second I’ll come with you.”

Yes, he’s tired. Yes, this is the fucking king of all stupid ideas. But the way Jon’s eyes lighten up, the tiny smile that plays around his lips… It’s just so fucking worth it.

 

**Theon:** id love to believe me. i miss you too, so much. but i cant come back, not now. im sorry. jon needs me

***

_ You’ll never guess what I’m doing, love. Or, well, where I’m doing it. And when. It’s 2pm and I’m still in my bed clothes - or rather, again, after the longest hot shower of my life - lazing around on the couch, on a Thursday afternoon. Yes, I’m taking the day off. By force, of course.  _

_ He’s incredible, Ygritte. Last night… I can’t even begin to describe how glad I was that he was there. The thoughts of our girl have hurt so much these last weeks, it was bound to erupt. And thank fuck I wasn’t alone. If I wasn’t so exhausted (still am, even after all this sleep) I would feel horrible for acting like I did. For being so needy. For that _ other  _ reaction. _

_ But, oh god, Ygritte! It felt so fucking good. To be able to really let go and fall. And he was there to capture me. His arms around me - like a safe haven, you know? A sanctuary. A place where I can feel and not be consoled with stupid platitudes. He just held me, and let me, and it felt so good.  _

_ Too good, apparently. No idea where  _ that  _ came from. I was mortified, but he didn’t even mention it, though he must’ve noticed. When he reached for my hand… for a moment I thought he would touch me, and I know you well enough to be sure you won’t hold this against me, but for a moment there I thought I wouldn’t mind. But he took my hand and the thought disappeared. Thank god. _

_ I guess it’s only natural, to have reacted like that. He’s attractive, in a way. Not like he used to be, you remember him from the club, yeah? The easy charm, the ready smile. All of that seems forced now, at least when he flirts with the guests. Everything about him is washed out somehow, dimmed. I can’t explain it. But he’s still handsome, I guess.  _

_ I’d never have thought he could be so soft, so understanding. He used to be loud and obnoxious - he still is, but he seems to know when to shut up and stop being an ass. Not something he knew when we were kids. He’s thoughtful. Sent Gilly up with some lunch. She made me chamomile tea, not to drink but for my eyes. They’re okay now, when I woke up they were so swollen I was nearly blind. I wonder why he didn’t come himself. Maybe he’s the one who’s embarrassed.  _

_ Would it be wrong to ask him to come with me again? If I hear Lyanna tonight? I don’t want to seem so pathetic, but it just. It felt so good. I want him there with me. He’s got the wrong face, the wrong body, the wrong voice, the wrong smell. He’s not you. But he feels right, at least in these moments.  _

_ I love you. Forever. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys. I need your help. 
> 
> I'm seriously smut-starved. My poor OTP didn't have a single scene together in season 8 (I don't expect them to SNOG ffs but c'mon at least a half-assed wave XD) AND the slow burn of this story is killing me. 
> 
> I need to write something. A nice, quick PWP, featuring my two favourite boys. 
> 
> Now that's where I need your help. Any prompts for some action? Modern, canon divergence, I honestly don't care. Need. Smut. ^^'
> 
> Also, if anyone has thoughts on this chapter, I'd obviously LOVE to hear them :D
> 
> Thanks ;-***


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! It's Sunday but I still have a week off which means loads of writing time :)
> 
> To this ch: 
> 
> • I know Shireen and Lyanna should be in their mid twenties if Jon is about thirty, but for story purposes they're not. 
> 
> • Fox hunting with dogs has been banned in the UK since 2004 but people continue to host them and find loopholes. It's a horrible tradition, and I am normally one who loves traditions. Not so much in this case

“Sucks to be you, Horseface!”

Theon gets a last glimpse of Jon’s indignant face before he slides the shower cabin door shut, holding it closed with one hand while fumbling for the tap with the other. Showering has turned into outright war, with the unwritten rule of whoever bags the cabin first gets hot water. The loser freezes.

“I swear by my fucking hair, Greyjoy, I’ll get you for that!”

Jon bangs on the cabin door before grumbling something Theon can’t make out. Grinning to himself he starts soaping up leisurely. Hot water really is a gift. As is Jon’s hair. He’s still wearing it tied back most of the time, but when they’re up in the attic he doesn’t bother and it curls around his head in a deliciously smelling cloud, making his face look softer and younger. 

Which is also helped by Jon having taken to trimming his beard closer to his jaw. He’s so handsome… Theon has to remind himself quite often that staring is rude. Feeling a little guilty at the thought of Jon waiting just outside he wraps his soapy fingers around his cock, conjuring Jon’s smile before his eyes. It doesn’t take long, a few quick strokes and Theon bites his lip to smother a groan as he comes, quickly washing off under the trickle of the water. 

“Wanker,” comes Jon’s morose voice from the other side and for a moment Theon is horrified, but then, “Arse,” and, “Prick,” and Theon laughs. Seems like Jon is just going through his bad-word-vocabulary.

“You can do better than that,” he calls out. 

“Cock face.”

“Still not impressed. And not true.” Theon turns off the water, grabbing the towel hanging over the door and slinging it around his waist, high up. Not that he’s ashamed, it’s just… his hips are getting fleshy. His belly is too soft. And his chest… Decently covered he steps out, right in time for Jon to shout at him, red-faced and determined.

“ASS PICKLE!!!!”

“Better,” Theon says, desperately trying not to ogle Jon’s arse as he squeezes past him, and failing. “But still not perfect.”

“Ygritte was way better at it than me,” Jon says from the cabin, then hisses when he turns the water on. “Damn you, you fuckwit!”

Ygritte again. Theon tries not to feel stung by it, he knows very well that she’s in every thought Jon has. It’s only natural. He loves her, still. Will always love her, and he and Jon aren’t… Well, Jon isn’t  _ his _ . But it stings. That he can’t have anything with Jon he didn’t have before with her. Not even a game of ridiculous epithets. 

“Theon?” Jon asks when Theon doesn’t answer.

“Alright,” Theon says, throat tight. “You win.”

***

“Why is it never cold up here?”

Theon’s eyes are closed but he can feel Jon shift next to him.

“No idea. Maybe the whole warmth from the flat is going up. I immediately knew this was to be Lyanna’s room when I came here for the first time. Downstairs was ice cold, even when I had a fire going, but here it was warm.” 

“Has Ygritte ever been here?”

“One time.” Jon huffs. “She was the one who got me into this. She was here once for a moors hiking tour with her friends and totally fell in love with the place. Always talking about how beautiful it is. And when we found out she was pregnant…”

Jon pauses, and Theon looks over just in time to catch him wiping his eyes. Silently, he takes Jon’s hand, revelling in the grateful smile on Jon’s face. 

“We hadn’t even been together for a half year. It was a shock. She wasn’t even sure she wanted kids. I was sure. From the moment I knew… It changed me. I think I became an adult in that very moment. And after a while Ygritte got used to the thought. Being a mum and all that. It just made me love her more.”

“Was she your first girlfriend?”

“First in every regard.” Jon smiles. “The first who wanted me like that. The first who loved me who wasn’t family. First kiss, first… well, a lot of firsts. Before I met her I thought something was wrong with me. Everyone was dating and crushing on people and I just couldn’t be bothered. Until Ygritte came. She was the one for me.”

“Do you think you could ever… again…”

Theon bites his tongue. It’s a stupid thing to ask and he knows the answer anyway. 

“Haven’t thought about it.” Jon nudges Theon with his shoulder. “Hey, I’m just learning to feel like a human being again. Besides…” He sighs. “I can’t see it. Me with someone who isn’t her. A love like that happens maybe once in a pink moon.”

“Don’t you mean blue moon?” Theon slowly takes his hand back. Despite already knowing there isn’t a chance… it still hurts. “I’m sure the phrase–”

“Yeah, I know. Pink Moon is a song I used to love as a teenager. Nick Drake.” Jon turns to the side, studying Theon’s face. “Hey, are you okay? You look–”

“Wasn’t that this depressing blues singer? The one you played all the time until Cat threatened you with a therapist?”

“The very one.” Jon gets to his feet, tilting his neck to one side then the other. “We should get some more sleep. I feel bad for dragging you into this. You know you can tell me to piss off and go to bed any time, right?”

He offers his hand and Theon takes it, levering himself off the floor. It’s a little too forceful and he crashes into Jon’s chest, nearly toppling him over. Jon laughs, placing both hands on Theon’s shoulders as he steadies him.

“Graceful,” he says, eyes glittering, mouth soft and rosy. 

Theon swallows. Jon’s face is so near, they stand close together, Jon’s hands warm on him, and now his eyes widen as he looks back at Theon, lips parting, a shiver runs through him and Theon bends his head just the tiniest bit, not more than five inches away, so near, his hand gliding down Jon’s side and coming to lie on his hip, Jon tilts his head and closes his eyes–

“We need to get up early,” Jon says tensely, eyes still closed. “That group… the survival training guys that got in on Friday. They’ll want breakfast.”

The moment is over, irretrievable, and Theon takes a step back, chest tightening. When Jon looks at him with a frown he smiles back lightly. 

“You’re right. And Davos comes to pick me up around half past ten.”

“Will you ever tell me what you’re up to with him?”

There’s relief in Jon’s voice, and Theon bites his tongue. How could he even think of it? Jon doesn’t want him. Jon will never want him. Not that it matters, he thinks gloomily as they walk downstairs and he shuts himself into his room. In just a few hours he’ll have to sabotage a fox hunt. And quite possibly piss off Ramsay Bolton. Theon falls into bed, not bothering with undressing. He can bewail his unrequited crush if he survives the next day. 

***

“Who’s this?”

The girl nods at Theon with her chin, lounging on the steps leading to the pew. The little church is cold and empty, except for this gathering of conspirators. 

“Theon? He works at the pub. He’s a good lad.” Davos pats Theon’s back. “Brave enough ter step in for Sam.”

“He doesn’t look brave.” The girl snorts, getting to her feet. She’s small, can’t be more than fourteen years old. She gives Theon a very thorough once-over that has him feel nervous. “He looks like he’ll piss himself any moment.”

“It’s his first time.” Shireen Baratheon wraps an arm about the girl’s shoulder. “Not everyone is as fierce as you. He’ll be fine.”

“We’ll see.” The girl extends her hand, crushing Theon’s when he takes it. “Lyanna Mormont. Don’t fuck this up.”

“Lyanna’s my best friend,” Shireen tells Theon. “She was supposed to be at a horse show today but it got cancelled so she’ll be doing her usual thing.”

“Which mostly involves hollering expletives at the party during the hunt,” Davos mutters into his beard. “Shireen, yer doing the leaflets?” 

“All ready. And here’s the glue you wanted.” Shireen throws Davos two large bottles, one of which he passes on to Theon. “Be careful with that,” she warns. “You don’t want to get it on your fingers.”

Theon eyes his bottle unhappily. This is going to be the end of him. Davos gives him a sympathetic glance, and a different bottle. 

“Need something to fortify yer nerves? Aye, me too.”

Gratefully, Theon brings the offered bottle of gin to his mouth, taking a huge gulp. And another. Maybe he can do this after all. If a bit woozy. Yes, he definitely can. Theon grins at Davos. They’ll do this. He closes his eyes and drinks.

***

It’s a foggy day, the sun isn’t getting through the clouds at all. Everything is spinning, faster and faster. They can hear the party before they’ve arrived at the castle, horses neighing, dogs barking, men laughing and joking. Theon’s stomach churns. 

It’s all over quickly, he doesn’t even realize what he’s doing, the smell of leather and glue and rain and horses and everything blending together. 

“Can’t wait for the blooding… damn excited… Father promised…”

Theon swivels around, catching the horse’s reins just in time not to fall, he stares over the animal’s back at the figures emerging from the stable. Ramsay, in the traditional red outfit, helmet tucked under his arm, hair tied back in a loose braid - he’s smiling widely, his salacious lips stretched over his teeth, he looks like something out of a fucking horror novel, dark and mysterious and–

“Who is this!?”

A shout from another direction, mad barking, yelling, Ramsay turns his head, looking in his direction, then there’s Davos, tugging at Theon’s arm. 

“Run,” he says, and Theon does. 

***

_ Hey, love.  _

_ So. Here I am at last. Been busy like hell all day, what with Theon being off with Davos. Had a long phone call with Arya. Can’t believe I forgot to call her back after Gilly and Theon both told me. She threatened to come to Thornby if I ever not pick up or call back again. Somehow I like the thought. If there’s one of them I could bear to see it’s Arya. I miss her.  _

_ Theon’s still not here. He said he’ll be back by nightfall but here I am, sitting in the pub, it’s after midnight and he’s not. And I’m really starting to freak out. I’m just. Worried I guess? They’ve gone out in Davos’ landie and as much as I tell myself it’s nothing I can’t help the thought - what if something happened? To tell the truth I’m this close to calling the police. See if there have been any accidents. Nothing on the wireless so far. _

_ The possibility that something could happen to Theon is excruciating. He’s - we’re friends now. He ripped me out of the nothing and left me open, but he was also there for me. And I know others have tried too, but something is different with Theon. Don’t ask me what, I’ve no idea. My head is a mess.  _

_ Ygritte - I think we nearly kissed. There was something in the air last night, some kind of tension that settled in my stomach and made it hard to breathe for a moment. The way he looked at me - as if he was desperate for it. Might be my imagination though, I’m not good at these things as you know. And when I backed out he didn’t seem disappointed, he smirked and that was that.  _

_ Maybe I was disappointed. Maybe I am. I think I wanted it. It feels wrong to tell you of all people, but you’re my best friend, Ygritte. You wouldn’t be mad at me for wanting some closeness, right? It’s not as if he could ever replace you. No one can. My heart is yours. But fuck do I want to feel something again. Something good.  _

_ He’s the right one for that at least. Not looking for anything serious, not wanting things I can’t give anyway. That was never his MO, and judging from the constant flirting that hasn’t changed. Come to think of it, he’s stopped doing that these past weeks. Maybe he’s too tired. I feel guilty for keeping him up. But I’m too selfish to not ask him to be with me. _

_ I don’t think I’m ready. He asked me. I don’t know if he meant himself, and I don’t know the answer. Not even for some - well, not meaningless, if I kissed him it wouldn’t be, he’s my friend and I kind of like him. But whatever it is I’m not ready for it. Maybe I’ll never be. Maybe these thoughts are just bullshit that’ll disappear again. I don’t want to betray you, love. Would I? If I kissed him?  _

_ Alright, it’s fucking one am and I’m going to - oh god. I think I hear them. Thank fuck. I’ll finish writing to you later. After I strangled Theon for scaring me like that.  _

_ ~ _

_ Okay, I know I said I’d finish writing after dealing with Theon. And now it’s Monday morning. I’m really sorry, but FUCK you have no idea what happened here yesterday. They both stumbled in, singing and hollering and giggling like idiots. Completely hammered. If I had put a match to them they’d gone up in flames. At least they came on foot. _

_ And they had a fucking fox with them!! A fox!! It was on a leash and didn’t look very happy, growling and yapping, and Theon was scolding it to be a little more grateful. Took me a long time until I got it out of them. They were out sabotaging Roose’s fox hunt! And I can’t even be mad at them, it’s an abominable tradition. And illegal.  _

_ Apparently they vandalised some riders’ gear and that Mormont girl Shireen Baratheon is friends with rode alongside the party shouting at them through a loudhailer. Commendable. But did they have to get completely pissed and  _ kidnap that fucking fox _??? It took all my persuasion skills to get Davos to go and set it free again while I took care of Theon.  _

_ He’s still upstairs, sleeping it off. Good thing it’s Monday, the only thing on my list was to send the survival guys off with a breakfast, and Gilly was here to help. Not much left to do but wait for that moron to show his hungover arse and get  _

_ Shit. Sorry again.  _

_ Roose just came in, breathing like a steam train. And oh god. They actually put glue on the party’s saddles. Roose is fuming, his pinks are ruined, his saddle is ruined, the hunt was ruined and someone saw Theon and Davos and described them and now Roose wants Theon’s hide.  _

_ Good grief.  _

_ I lied. Can you believe it? I lied in my fucking landlord’s face, swearing that Theon had been in the whole day with a nasty cold and surely wasn’t part of this thing. Can’t do anything for Davos, though. Apparently he does something like this every year. Again, can’t blame him. But at least Roose isn’t after Theon. He’s mine to chew out.  _

_ How peaceful my life was before he came… And how dull.  _

_ I love you, I love you, no matter what. I always will. You and Lyanna. Give her a kiss from me.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story of the rescued fox was told to me by a guy named Ben who I stayed with in Thirsk on my last Yorkshire holiday. His uncle had been retired from the SAS (google those guys, they're hardcore) and was bored and decided to start a guerilla war against local fox hunters. Fun times :)
> 
> Dear Readers! I want to take a moment to thank you all for being with me and this story so far, I'm immensely grateful for everyone taking their time and reading/kudoing/commenting. These are turbulent fandom times and your love is much appreciated. 
> 
> @half_life: your betaing this story has been such an amazing help and it wouldn't be like this without you. ❤️


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good morning! There's two very important things I want to tell you today: 
> 
> I love Theon Greyjoy.   
> I love Jon Snow.

“Thanks again for coming with me. Wouldn’t have known how to get Davos out of his scrape,” Theon tells Sam as he opens the door to his shop. “You don’t look all recovered yet.”

“Oh, it’s quite alright,” Sam assures him before sneezing violently. “Sorry, sorry… You see, we do that every year, it’s kind of a tradition here. Mayor Stannis will grouse and tell Davos off, Davos will apologize to Lord Bolton and Lord Bolton will graciously accept the apology and swear to the Mayor he won’t host illegal hunts anymore.”

“And next year everything happens again?” Theon shakes his head in disbelief. They enter the small, cosy living room where Sam motions for Theon to sit in the armchair before slumping on the couch. “You guys are odd.”

“Well, I guess…” Sam starts beaming as Gilly enters with two steaming bowls on a tray. “Perfect, thank you, love.”

“What’s this?” Theon asks, carefully sniffing as Gilly hands him one of the bowls, filled with a golden liquid with bits of stuff swimming in it. It smells heavenly. 

“My grandmother’s patented chicken soup. Good for colds…” Gilly winks at Theon, “...and hangovers.”

“Incredible,” Theon murmurs, then hisses when the hot soup burns his tongue. “Juft what I need. Jon haf meanly detained the painkillerf.” He hisses in a breath, then takes a sip of the cold ale Sam hands him. Better. “He isn’t talking to me.”

“I think he was worried.” Sam starts coughing. “Sorry… When Gilly went over this morning to help with breakfast he mentioned something like that.”

“Worried?” Theon looks up at Gilly, waiting for her to nod in confirmation. “But. Why would Jon be worried about me? I mean.  _ Me _ ?”

“You weren’t home. You told him you’d be back at a certain time and you weren’t. Not something he takes well, apparently.” Gilly smirks. “He must really like you. When Davos broke his foot and had to stay in the hospital for three weeks Ice didn’t even notice his absence.”

“Fog,” Theon says, more to himself than to her. He squints up at Gilly, trying not to sound like a hopeful idiot. “You really think he likes me?”

Yeah, that didn’t work.

“Definitely. You managed to wake him up. I’m not sure we can even call him Ice anymore.” 

“It’s true.” Sam yawns. “Sorry… He even had Gilly telling me “Get well” from him. Why are you asking?”

Theon hesitates for a moment, but why not? At least he could talk about it with someone.

“Because coincidentally I like Jon a lot.” Theon occupies himself with fishing for a piece of carrot in his soup. “More than I ought to.”

“You’re in love with him,” Gilly says softly.

It isn’t a question, but Theon nods. “And I bloody well hate the fact. I don’t do that. Feelings. Well, I once thought I had been in love but. That didn’t turn out so well. I didn’t mean to go and start liking him, but he’s so... and he’s not…” He sighs. “He’s not really free. So it’s all a moot point anyway.”

“I’m sorry,” Sam says, voice wobbly with sympathy. “Unrequited crushes do hurt a lot. You think there’s really no chance–”

“He’ll forget his dead girlfriend and turn gay for me overnight? Yeah, bloody likely.” Theon pushes the empty bowl away, leaning back in his chair and pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes with a groan. “I’m a fucking masochist, alright? I even turned down Robb’s olive branch because Jon needs my help here.”

“You didn’t?!” Sam and Gilly shout in unison, then Gilly tsks. “Well, I think it’s nice of you to stick with Ice - Jon - and help him. But I very much hope this wasn’t your last chance to set things right with Robb.”

Theon grins weakly. 

“I fucking hope so too.”

***

“Still sulking, Horseface?”

Theon walks over to the couch where Jon is sitting, shoulders stiff. Even the back of his head somehow emits disapproval. Jon doesn’t deign to answer, so Theon sighs, walking around until he’s in front of Jon, who’s obstinately not looking at him as he scribbles away in his journal. Theon looks down on him for a moment, at the gathered brows, the tightly pursed mouth. 

Alrighty then.

“Woe is me!” Theon drops to his knees with a dramatic gesture, biting his cheek when Jon finally looks at him in astonishment. “Mea culpa maxima! Oh, have mercy on me, forgive my failures, take me back into your grace!”

“Did you bust a fuse just now?” Jon asks, flipping his book shut. “Or is this meant to be an apology of sorts?”

“That depends.” Theon casually rests his arms on Jon’s knees, studying his face. “Are you just being a prick or were you really worried?”

“Both.” Jon smiles for a moment before his face gets somber again. “I had to lie for you. Which isn’t cool. And you brought a fucking wild animal into my pub! Oh, stop grinning! And. Well. You were out in a car. So when the time came to expect you back and you didn’t…” Jon shrugs. “I was worried.”

_ Oh. _

“I’m sorry,” Theon says earnestly. “I didn’t think of that.”

Jon stares at him for a long moment, as if to ascertain Theon isn’t mocking him. Then he nods curtly. 

“You want some Ibuprofen now?”

“How gracious of you,” Theon sneers, stretching out his legs on the floor and leaning back against Jon’s. “But Gilly not only served chicken soup, she also gave me an absolutely disgusting concoction. She calls it tea, but I’m not sure this lovely word should be associated with something this foul. It helped.”

“I know what you mean.” Jon makes a choking noise. “She always forces that brew on me when I have a hangover. Not that I have one often, only once every... Hey, are you planning on staying like this? Your head makes a good rest table for this.”

“Ouch!” Theon gropes behind his head to hinder Jon from thumping him with his book again. “Alright, I’m moving. You could’ve told me to bugger off instead of clobbering my poor head with that.”

He clambers to his feet, meaning to fake a dramatic exit when suddenly the floor is gone from underneath him, the world spins and the couch is coming at him too fast to do anything except face-planting into the cushions. Theon blinks. He’s lying at an awkward angle, half on top of Jon who chuckles smugly as Theon tries to get upright. 

“Did you just…”

“Certainly not.” Jon’s cheek twitches. “Can’t anticipate you would be so clumsy to fall over your own feet - mine weren’t even anywhere near you.”

“Oh Jon…” Theon shakes his head sadly. “Don’t start a war you can’t win.”

And with that he pounces. Jon yelps as Theon topples into him, sending him back into the the armrest of the couch.

“Noo,” he cries when Theon descends on him, digging his fingers into Jon’s ribs through his jumper. “You can’t -  _ I’m ticklish!!” _

“Should’ve thought of that before,” Theon tells him, mercilessly raking his claws over Jon’s sides, making him shriek and writhe like a captured cat. “I’m the master of this game. I lived with three elder siblings before I took up with you Stark lot and I know all the dirty tricks.”

“Monster!” Jon yowls, trying to wrestle out of Theon’s grasp. He’s laughing helplessly, his face flushed and grimacing. “Alright, I yield. I yield!”

“Oh, I’m sure you do.” Theon looks down on his quarry in triumph. He’s straddling Jon’s legs, holding his wrists in a firm grip. “Say it.”

“You’re the master, okay?” 

Jon snort-giggles, wriggling some more but he doesn’t try to throw Theon off. And damn does he look lovely, with his eyes glittering and his hair coming loose and his soft, smiling mouth… Theon’s chest tightens warningly, the surge of longing hitting him like a freight train. 

“Jon,” he starts, unable to take his eyes off of him. 

Jon’s giggles fade out, he grows silent and still, looking back at Theon with a strange expression, something between alarm and anticipation. “I yield,” he says again, but now his voice is different than before, timid and shy. He bites his lip, chest rising and falling quickly. He looks nervous. 

Theon swallows. This. Can this be something like an okay? A silent permission to do it? It sounds like it, and with anyone else he wouldn’t hesitate, would take what is offered and don’t waste another thought on it. But it’s Jon. And maybe Jon doesn’t even know how he looks, or how his words can be interpreted. Maybe he’d punch Theon if he tried anything. Maybe he’d be shocked or disgusted. Angry. 

Stomach clenching, Theon slowly moves back, giving Jon the space to sit up. Jon looks confused as he does, but there’s this sense of relief again that makes Theon doubt if there’s even been anything at all. Maybe Jon had just feared Theon would do something improper. And Theon, with his feelings in uproar, had mistaken it for consent. He doesn’t trust his own judgment anymore. 

“So,” Jon says, flusteredly fumbling his hair back into submission. “How did it go with Mayor Stannis?”

Fuck my life, Theon thinks unhappily before he forces a grin and launches into the story. 

***

Theon opens a tired eye to peer at his alarm clock. Not even two am. He’d finally fallen asleep around midnight, only to wake up now, hot instead of cold for once, and sweaty and desperate. He’d dreamed of Jon, of his beautiful mouth, that soft, inviting mouth. In his dreams he’d brushed that mouth with his own, just a warm, gentle kiss, comfortable and sweet. 

And then…  _ then _ it had turned into something more, their lips parting and sliding against each other, wetter, hotter - until he’d woken up with a start, his arms empty and his lips cold. 

Bringing a finger to his lips Theon shivers. He can nearly taste him still, can still feel the pressure on his mouth… A sudden, desperate rage has him sit up. He needs to know. Needs to know if the evening could have gone different if he’d just had the balls to fucking  _ do something _ , if Jon had actually meant to encourage him, if there’s any chance ever…  _ Fuck this _ , Theon thinks, swinging the duvet back, enough is enough. He’s not himself anymore, all this wanting and longing and dreaming and not knowing what to do.

This has got to end.

He curses when his bare feet hit the cold floor, just avoiding Loki’s tail where he lounges beside the bed, quickly stalking out of his room into the living area. Jon’s door is closed and there’s no sound. He’s probably fast asleep. But right now Theon couldn’t care less if he wakes him. This is life or death. With two wide steps he’s at the door and thumping at it with his fist. 

“Jon!!” He knocks harder, faster. “Jon, wake up!! Come on, get out here!!”

It takes a half minute of insistent knocking and hollering Jon’s name in an increasingly desperate tone until the door flies open and Jon barges out, grabbing Theon’s shoulders anxiously, patting him down. 

“What is it? Are you hurt? A fire? Burglars? Are you sick?  _ What happened? _ ”

His voice is agitated, eyes wide and searching Theon’s face, his hair is standing up around his head like a fluffy black cloud and he’s got a deep pillow crease on his left cheek. He’s so lovely. Theon swallows and smiles, a little jittery.

“All fine. I’m sorry, I didn’t want to worry you. But I have to do something. Urgently.”

“What.” Jon swallows, hands falling from Theon’s shoulders, lingering on his chest. He shivers, the tension mostly seeping from his stiff form. Mostly. He looks down on his feet. “What the fuck can be so urgent that it can’t wait until tomorrow?”

Theon braces himself, slowly raising his hand and tucking a stray curl behind Jon’s ear. He lets his hand linger, brushing his fingertips over warm skin before cradling the back of Jon’s head. Jon looks up, eyebrows pulled into a funny little frown, but he doesn’t step away. He exhales a shuddery breath, lips parting ever so slightly. 

“Please don’t hit me,” Theon says, and closes the distance.

It’s better than the dreams. Jon’s mouth is warm and  _ real _ , opening wider, the glide of their lips turning slippery and wet. He tastes of sleep and toothpaste, his lips even softer than they look. It takes all of Theon’s self-control not to dive in and take more. Instead he lifts his other hand to Jon’s face, stroking his hot cheek with his thumb, just once, and moves back. 

Jon’s eyes are closed, his mouth plump and rosy, his breath coming quick and in short gasps. Theon feels as if his heart will take off in his chest. This is it. This is what he never knew he wanted, what he has now found. He’s given away his heart. Irrevocably. If Jon wants it. 

“I see,” Jon finally manages, voice hoarse and choked. “I… oh god, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!”

It’s like a bucket of ice over Theon’s head, but before he can react Jon makes a strange little chirping sound deep in his throat, his eyes fly open and he surges forward, mouth crashing into Theon’s as he slings both arms around his neck. And this time there’s no holding back. 

Jon is everywhere, his taste, his smell, his hair brushing Theon’s face, his warm, firm body pressed against him… Theon’s arms come around Jon’s waist, pulling him even closer, so close he can feel Jon’s pounding heartbeat against his own chest. It’s the best kiss of Theon’s entire life. 

Eventually it ends though, and Jon pulls back, breath still irregular. His eyes are glazed and his lips are puffy and red, looking so kissable Theon has to make an effort to let Jon catch his breath. 

“Why…” Jon starts, then interrupts himself to swallow. “I mean, why me? Is this a fleeting mood? What…”

“It’s a necessity,” Theon says quietly. “For me at least.”

“To kiss someone? To get your lay for the time being? Because I’m not–”

“Kissing  _ you _ ,” Theon says loudly, effectively shutting Jon up mid-sentence. “Not anyone. I don’t want a lay. I just want… to kiss you, I guess.”

Jon shivers, rubbing his bare arms despite the fire still warming the living room.

“So this is… something you want to keep doing?”

“I would like that very much,” Theon says softly, then sighs. “I fear I have…” No, Jon won’t be ready to hear that. “I  _ like  _ you.”

“Oh.” Jon blinks, swaying a little. “I’m not sure… I don’t know if I can. You’re not…”

“Ygritte,” Theon finishes quietly. “No, I’m not. But I’m here.”

“I need to think about it.” Jon slowly starts to retreat into his room. “I’m not yet - I don’t know if I’m ready for — ”

“I’ll wait,” Theon says, stomach tightening as Jon smiles a wobbly smile. 

It hurts like a fucking bitch when the door closes between them, and Theon wants nothing more than storm in and just take what he wants. Which is Jon. All of him. And that’s… nothing he’ll get by pressuring him, essentially. Fuck. He’ll wait. What else can he do anyway? 

***

_ It happened. I thought it wouldn’t when he didn’t do anything tonight, but he came to me. He woke me up and then he kissed me. He kissed me. I couldn’t - for a second it all felt so wrong, the angle, the feeling of his lips, the smell of him. So different. So not you. But it was  _ good.  _ And then he stopped. _

_ Ygritte, I’m so sorry. I feel horrible. I kissed him back. I practically threw myself at him, I wanted it so much and it was. It was good. It was so good to be held like that, to melt into him, to have this. New. Not you, so different. Exciting. Thrilling. It felt like being struck by lightning, as if I was buzzing from within.  _

_ I’m so sorry. You’ve been gone for so long, I didn’t even realize how much I’ve missed this. To be with someone like that. To feel wanted and wanting. A part of me hates myself for it. How can I do this? To you? To us? There is no us anymore but I can’t shake the thought. I’m cheating on you. _

_ I tried to think about it, how it would be if it were the other way round. If I was dead and you alive, and you would kiss someone. It’s a gut-wrenching thought. I felt hot with anger, trying to picture you with some stranger, you in the arms of someone who isn’t me, but something was off... And then it hit me. _

_ I can’t see your face anymore. I remember everything else, how you felt in my arms, how your hair smelled, how your voice sounded. But I can’t see your face clearly. It’s vague, blurred. It scares the hell out of me. I stared at the photo of the three of us, but it was like looking at strangers. It’s not - we’re not us anymore.  _

_ Is it his fault? Is he chasing you away? Or was it bound to happen anyway, is it time that does this to me? There are moments… these last days. I do something, and suddenly I pause and realize there’s no pain. It comes back quickly when I notice its absence. But there are moments without pain. This scares me too.  _

_ I love you. I miss you. But, oh god, don’t hate me, Ygritte. I want him. I want someone again, someone who belongs to me. Can that be him? What if he’s not serious. I was wrong, thinking I could do meaningless. I couldn’t take it if I was just a passing fancy, a means to entertain him as long as he’s here. He says he likes me. And this scares me more than anything. There can never be another you. _

_ I don’t want a replacement for you. But I want him. How can this ever work out? I need help. I’m so confused. Please help me. I can’t figure this out on my own. I want you back and forget everything else. I want to go to his room and be with him. I feel like I’m ripped in two.  _

_ The only thing I know is that I love you. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo. Any thoughts on this? 
> 
> Theon did get his kiss but isn't necessarily feeling better. Jon is in turmoil, totally confused the poor thing. 
> 
> And chapter 14 and old Heathcliff are lurking... 
> 
> Be prepaaaaaaared! *Scar-song-voice*


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hullo!!! 
> 
> My holiday is nearly over but at least I got a lot of writing done. 
> 
> Get ready for Ramsay! Tame, for now.

The next day starts awkwardly, to put it mildly. Theon showers in peace, no run to the bathroom door, no squabble over who gets to go first. Jon isn’t there, his room empty. He’s not down in the pub either and since there’s no one in for breakfast Theon goes back to the flat where he slumps on the couch, feeling horrible. 

“Mrrr?”

Theon lifts his head as Loki jumps on the couch, a questioning look on his little face. 

“It’s alright, mate,” Theon tells him. “I’m just being ridiculous over here. Don’t worry. What the hell was I even thinking? He’ll fall for me after one kiss? I’m an idiot, cat.”

“Mew,” Loki says, and it sounds so much like a confirmation that Theon laughs, pulling him onto his lap. 

“Thanks for your support. Always good to know what my cat thinks of me.”

“Brrr,” Loki counters, rubbing his head against Theon’s chest before snuggling down and starting to purr. 

***

Lunchtime comes and goes without a sign of Jon. The first evening guests are already in when he finally shows up. He’s got dark bags under his eyes, looking absolutely exhausted. It makes Theon want to slap himself, for causing this. Jon shuffles behind the bar without really looking at him. 

“You can go,” he mumbles. “Take the evening off, I got it.”

“Are you sure? I–”

“Yeah, yeah. You already did lunch on your own. I’m good. Surely you have something to do elsewhere.”

It’s a clear dismissal. Jon sounds weary and detached, and in the end Theon just nods and goes to tell Gilly he’s off. She takes one look at his face and shakes her head. 

“Stay here for awhile if you like. I’ll make you your favourite, hm?” She starts folding a pie crust into a form. “Want to tell me what happened? You look awful.”

“Gee, thanks.” Theon rolls his eyes but sits down. “Well.”

“Let me guess.” Gilly turns to Theon after putting the pie in the oven. “You told him about your feelings and he shot you down?”

“No,” Theon grumbles. “He kissed the everloving fuck out of me and told me he needed to think about it.”

“Oh.” Gilly stares at him with huge eyes. “But isn’t that… good?”

“Better than getting hit, I guess. “ Theon shrugs. “But this morning he was out and now he came back and–”

The door swings open and Jon marches in, decidedly ignoring Theon’s presence. Gilly gapes at Jon, silently watching as he takes two ready orders from the hotplate and disappears again without saying a word. 

“Uh oh,” Gilly says when the door has stopped swinging. “I see what you mean. Ice is icy.”

“You could say that. And I have no idea what to do about it.”

“Tell you what you do. You stay here with me and eat and tell me all about your woes, okay? Maybe I’ll have a sticky toffee pudding for you later.”

“Did I ever mention I love you?” Theon asks, a fuzzy warmth permeating his belly. It’s wonderful to have friends like that. 

***

“Wha–”

Theon lifts his head from his arms, hissing when his neck protests against the uncomfortable angle it’s been twisted into. Apparently he’s fallen asleep on the kitchen table. Theon wipes his mouth, stretches - and smiles when he sees the small plate with toffee pudding waiting for him. After drinking a glass of water he takes the plate, meaning to take it upstairs when he becomes aware of low voices coming from the bar. 

Theon glances at his watch. After eleven, the guests should be gone. Maybe it’s Davos? Theon hasn’t seen him since Sunday night. Plate in hand he marches out, ready to make some silly fox pun when he sees who it is sitting at the bar, talking to Jon. Theon feels himself freezing. 

For a moment Ramsay’s face shows undiluted surprise, but it doesn’t last long. His eyes brighten as he turns his torso towards the kitchen door, he smiles as if all his dreams are coming true in that very second. 

“Aaah,” he says gleefully. “I thought I could smell the stench of betrayal around here.”

It takes a lot to not just run away, so much so that Theon is actually surprised he’s staying put. 

“Ramsay,” he greets him, immediately hating how demure his voice sounds. He clears his throat. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“I thought that was you on Sunday, but then I wasn’t sure. Thought maybe it was just wishful thinking.” Ramsay raises his eyebrows as he looks down on the plate trembling in Theon’s hands. “I see you’re back to your old ways.”

“Yeah, so?” Theon lifts his chin, concentrating on breathing steadily through his nose. “I don’t think that’s any of your business anymore.”

“Of course not.” Ramsay lifts his hands in mock-surrender. “No need to be so hostile, pet. I’m just happy to see you again. No hard feelings.”

“Sure,” Theon mutters. “Jon, are you closing up?”

Jon, having silently watched the exchange, looks at Theon as if he’s stupid. “You do see we still have a guest, right?”

“Aw, just a guest, am I?” Ramsay leans over, stroking lightly over Jon’s hand. “I thought we were getting along so well.”

Jon stares at him blankly, not moving a muscle. 

“Jon,” Theon urges. The casual gesture makes him feel sick for a number of reasons. “Can I please talk to you in the kitchen for a moment?”

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry,” Ramsay drawls, sitting back. “I’m intruding. Apologies. I’ll see myself out.”

“You’re not intruding,” Jon says calmly. “You’re a guest and you’re Roose’s son. He’s always been a good landlord.”

“In that case I shall be back.” Ramsay winks. “Get to know you better,  _ Jon _ .” He gets to his feet, turning back to Theon. “It was so lovely seeing you again, pet. I’ve missed you.”

“Night, Ramsay.” Theon grits his teeth. “Feel free to stay away.”

“ _ Theon _ ,” Jon hisses, but Ramsay waves graciously.

“See you soon, Jon,” he smiles and finally,  _ finally _ leaves. 

When he can move again Theon stumbles over and locks the door. His legs feel like jelly, and now that it’s over he’s nauseous and cold, all traces of bravery dissolved. Leaning with his back against the door he tries to get the world to stop shaking. 

“Have you lost your mind?”

Theon opens his eyes at Jon’s angry voice. He’s coming out from behind the bar, looking furious.

“Sorry. I just… I know him from before and. I just–”

“Ex-lover?” Jon sneers. “And I guess it didn’t end well? That’s your problem, Theon. You can’t say stuff like that to a guest. Let alone my landlord’s son. Have you any idea how lucky I am with Roose? He lets me do what I want here, never meddles, he’s fair and the rent is appropriate. And you go and be rude to his son!”

“He’s not…” Theon takes a deep breath. “He’s not a nice person. He’s… he’s bad.  _ Really _ bad.”

“He hasn’t done anything bad  _ here _ though. I can’t be rude to him just because you had a thing with him. What was the bad thing he did?” Jon crosses his arms. “Cheat on you? Like you cheated on your fucking best friend? Or have you been the cheater there too and he dumped you and now you play the victim?”

“What…” Theon protests weakly. “How do you…”

“I had a long talk with Catelyn today. Called her because I wanted her advice on… on something. She finally told me why you’re here.”

_ Shit.  _

“Jon, sorry, but this is something between me and Robb. Yeah, I made a fucking mistake there. A huge mistake. But it brought me here. And being here… Jon, I’ve changed.”

“I don’t even care.” Jon throws his arms up. “I don’t care what you did before you got here. If I did I wouldn’t have touched you with a bargepole. I used to live with you, remember? I used to be the butt of many, many of your jokes.” 

“Jon...”

“I don’t care!!!” Jon is shouting, the vein on his forehead throbbing angrily. “I like you  _ now _ and the Theon  _ now  _ is the one who behaves like an idiot to  _ my fucking landlord’s son _ !!!”

“He was...” Theon swallows. “He was flirting with you.”

“So what?? One kiss and you think you own me? I fucking  _ know _ he’s hitting on me, I’m neither stupid nor blind. He’s fairly obvious!”

“That’s not my intention at all. And I know I don’t own you, it’s just… he’s bad, Jon.” He can’t think of any other way to say it. “He’s really, really bad.”

“What. What was it that he did that was so bad?”

He should tell Jon. About everything. About the things Ramsay did. The pain, the humiliation, everything. But the words get stuck in his throat. He can’t. Jon would never look at him the same again if he knew all of it. If he knew what a pathetic excuse for a man Theon really is. He shakes his head. 

“Can you just accept I know what I’m talking about? I’m worried about you. He’s… he could hurt you. He hurts people.”

“I don’t plan on encouraging him.” Jon sighs deeply, his anger receding. “He’s a bit of a creep. I can’t outright piss him off, but I’ll be careful, alright?”

“Alright.” 

For a moment Jon seems unsure, but then he comes over, wrapping his arms around Theon’s waist, pressing his face against his neck. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles. “I didn’t mean to get so angry. Today was a long day.”

“Sorry I was rude to a guest. I’ll try to stay out of his way as best as I can.” Theon strokes Jon’s back, laying his cheek on his head. “And please believe me when I say how sorry I am for what I did to Robb. I would never betray him - or any friend - ever again.”

Jon doesn’t answer, he tilts his face upwards until his mouth finds Theon’s. It’s much like the first kiss, sweet and slow. Theon’s arms around Jon tighten, their bodies pressed flush together. It feels so good, like balm on his agitated nerves after the horror of being confronted with Ramsay so unexpectedly. Jon is pliant in Theon’s arms, warm, but all too soon he breaks the kiss with a sigh. 

“You should see that you get some sleep. I’ll finish up.”

“Good night,” Theon says. “See you tomorrow.”

***

_ I think my head will explode.  _

_ What a fucked up day. First I couldn’t sleep after I wrote to you yesterday, then I decided to go for a walk and rather suddenly and randomly I missed Ghost so much. It’s a good ten years and I still feel horrible for having given him away. I just wasn’t in any state to take care of him. It would have broken his heart to live with the zombie I was. He deserved more. _

_ I know it was the right choice. I know he was happy with Tormund. I can just hope he forgave me for not keeping him with me. When Tormund told me he’d passed… I think it didn’t really get through to me. Three years, and suddenly I miss my dog so much. I think I cried for an hour, remembering the last time I touched his fur, the last time his nose bumped my hand. Guess it’s all part of the living thing. Experiencing the emotions I’ve managed to repress so well. I feel like I’ll go off at the slightest bump.  _

_ I walked over to Redmarne, they have a payphone in their village hall. Called Cat from there. She’s the only one I could think of to ask for advice. Her husband died. And yet she still kept going. I think she even had a couple boyfriends since Ned’s death. I thought maybe she could tell me what her secret is.  _

_ She was kind. And astonished that I would call her voluntarily. She said there is no secret. She just kept going. And she had the kids. If our Lyanna was still here I would’ve done the same. But I lost you both at the same time. My whole future was gone in one second. Cat said she understands why I shut myself off like that. But she also told me what she thinks of me, worrying her and my cousins like I did. Ouch. She’s right though. _

_ I asked her if it is possible. To let someone new into one’s life after losing the greatest love. She got it. Told me how hard it was, when she fell for someone who wasn’t Ned. It’s everything I feel too, the thoughts of betrayal, the being split in two, the insecurity. It’s good to know that it’s not just me feeling like this. Apparently it’s a normal reaction.  _

_ She asked who it is and, idiot that I am, I told her. She started sputtering and asking more and more questions. I was so confused until she told me what Theon had done to Robb. God, Ygritte… For a moment I was so furious I nearly started shouting in the middle of the village hall. It’s like I said, all emotions are maximised. If Theon had been standing next to me I couldn’t have guaranteed he’d still be able to breathe. _

_ I calmed down soon enough when walking back. I mean, I knew they were at odds. Robb and Theon. And yes, it’s horrible what he did, and I feel bad for Robb and guilty for not being there for him when it happened but. Somehow I still don’t care. I do, for Robb, obviously. But I don’t care what Theon has done before. He’s different now. I know he is.  _

_ Still, when I saw him I got so angry again! I wanted to grab him by the neck and strangle him for doing that to Robb. But. How could I strangle him when his face lights up like a christmas tree when I enter the room? I think I was rather cold to him. I didn’t know how to help myself. Predictably, he slinked off to Gilly and stayed there the whole evening. When she went home she told me he’s asleep on the kitchen table and to wake him when I go to bed. _

_ I wanted to do just that when Ramsay Bolton let himself in. Can’t say I was ecstatic to see him but what could I do? He’s Roose’s son and after the whole fox hunt stuff… He wasn’t deterred by my indifference in the slightest, just took a seat at the bar and requested whisky. He talks a lot. Mostly about me, strangely. What he heard about me around here. Had to really hold my tongue when he started talking of you. He also complimented me a lot.  _

_ And then Theon came out and saw him and kind of froze like a deer in the headlights. They seem to know each other quite well. A former lover, I suspect. Theon was rude to him and I told him off. Got so angry again. I should really try to keep that in control. Theon was all shaky, telling me over and over how bad Ramsay is, but without providing details. I guess their breakup wasn’t amiable.  _

_ Theon looked so out of it I felt bad for lashing out and - well. It happened again. I’m sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t even mention it to you, but then that would feel even more like cheating. He’s a good kisser. He seemed to know exactly what it was I wanted. Just. Closeness. Something soft. He seemed to need it too.  _

_ I’m still confused, Ygritte. I love you. Cat said that’ll never go away, which I am grateful for. I don’t want my love for you to go away ever. But maybe there’s something… Cat said when she fell in love again it wasn’t as if the new love replaced or diminished her love for Ned. She said her heart just grew to make room for both. If that’s possible… Maybe my heart can do that too. Maybe I can have you both.  _

_ Love you.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? Questions? Just want to say hello? :p


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How are you all? Vienna is so hot again I can hardly concentrate on anything :(

There is a new, exciting atmosphere around them. Nothing’s happened since Jon had kissed him, but every now and then Theon catches Jon looking at him with a thoughtful expression that makes warmth sweep all over him. The days go by, busy as ever, and it’s Friday before Jon finally addresses the elephant in the room, right after the breakfast guests have cleared out. 

“So,” he starts, shuffling his feet. “I’ve been thinking a lot. About you.”

Theon stops piling dirty plates together, focussing on Jon, waiting for him to continue. 

“I like you. I think I could like you a lot and… But I don’t know how to go about this. I’m still… there’ll always be…” Jon looks up. He’s biting his lip, seeming nervous. “I have no idea what it is I want. I may need lots of time to figure it out and I don’t know what it is  _ you _ want–”

“You,” Theon says quickly, and Jon snorts, relaxing a little. 

“Aye, you said as much. And I’m - I mean, you’re not - maybe I can’t…”

“Hey, stop before you hurt yourself.” Theon reaches out and Jon comes willingly into his arms. “You don’t need to figure it out all at once, okay?”

“Okay,” Jon mumbles, then wraps a hand around Theon’s neck and draws him in. 

It’s another one of those gentle kisses, but as good as it is Theon wants more. He wants to taste Jon, really taste him. Carefully he sucks at his lower lip, waiting to see how this’ll be received. And  _ oh fuck,  _ Jon  _ groans _ , he seems to get taller all of a sudden and their mouths slide together, the kiss turns deeper and Jon’s tongue is in his mouth and god it feels amazing. Theon moans against Jon’s mouth, licking into it, fingers wandering to the hem of Jon’s jumper. 

Jon shivers, his lips and tongue moving frantically, heat spreads like wildfire through Theon’s veins–

“Surprise, surprise!! I’m -  _ what the fuck!? _ ”

With a thump Jon slumps down and Theon vaguely realizes he’s been standing on his tiptoes, but it doesn’t really register because now they’re staring at the man who hovers in the doorway, completely aghast. 

“Oh fuck.”

“ _ Greyjoy _ !!!” 

Robb roars like a deranged elk, his face promising bloody murder. Theon books it. He sprints up the stairs, hearing an almighty crashing sound and trampling steps behind him before the last fire door closes and he’s in the flat, out of breath, and angry at himself. What is he even doing? As if that would solve anything. Squaring his shoulders, Theon takes a deep breath and faces the door.

Nothing happens. 

Suspicious, he waits another minute, then two more. Where is he? A sudden, horrible thought has Theon ripping the door wide open - what if Robb had a stroke or heart attack from the shock and is lying somewhere… nothing. Slowly Theon retracts his flight path back through the guest rooms hallway, and down the stairs into the pub. 

The image that greets him is gold: Robb, clutching a feebly struggling Jon to his chest while murmuring a soft string of nonsense into his hair. When he hears Theon’s steps he looks up, blue eyes hazy and wide. 

“You utter asshole,” Robb sniffs, and before Theon can stop him he’s trapped in an equally tight hug, trying to keep his organs from being squished. 

Oh god, how he’s missed that.

***

Later, when they sit around a table, Robb finally explains what he’s even doing there.

“I just thought,” he says, “instead of calling today I could make a little detour on my way south. Con is tomorrow and I need to go to the headquarters before that.”

“Conference, not convention,” Theon explains when Jon frowns in confusion. “He always pisses off to London twice a year for a week and comes back talking like the Queen.”

“Do not, you prick,” Robb contradicts, but he smiles, and it feels just like before. 

Only when Jon gets up to pick up the ringing phone, Robb’s smile drops from his face. 

“I have no idea what it is you’re doing here, Theon. But I can tell you one thing. If you hurt my cousin in any way… after all he’s been through… if this is just one of your games… I would leave the country if I were you.”

He’s completely serious, and while normally Theon would joke and tease him for giving him the shovel talk, this time he simply nods. 

“Understood.” He sighs and leans forward, lowering his voice even more. “This is different, Robb. I know you won’t believe me, but. This is different. I am.  _ Jon _ is. I want him to be happy.”

“He told me you are a real help.” Robb relaxes slightly, leaning back. “He told me he likes you now. Don’t fuck this up.” He smiles tightly. “This is something I could never forgive.”

“So, about Roslin…” Theon starts, then raises a hand when Robb opens his mouth. “Wait. I am so sorry for having done this to you. I’m more sorry than I can ever tell.”

“I know,” Robb says, his stony mien softening. “I know you are.”

“I love you, man,” Theon says. “I really do.”

“Oh shut up!” 

Robb doesn’t say it, but he reaches over and boxes Theon’s arm, his smile brilliant now. Theon smiles back, the weight of guilt dropping off his shoulders. He’s forgiven. 

“Sorry to interrupt you…”

They look up at Jon and Theon starts when he sees his face. He’s lost all colour, skin ashen, eyes pitch black and shocked. 

“Roose is dead,” he says. 

***

Theon watches one person after the other walking up to Ramsay, offering their condolences. He is the picture of grief. His eyes are red, their expression almost soft, deep lines edged into his face, his hair slightly dishevelled and loosely hanging over his shoulders. He shakes people’s hands, thanks them in a low voice, and every now and then he shivers, turning and laying a hand on the coffin while pressing his other hand to his mouth as if to suppress a sob. 

He really looks genuine, but Theon doesn’t buy it one bit. 

Slowly it gets emptier in the Castle chapel. It’s small, just about a dozen pews, and it had been absolutely packed with people from the village. Theon lets his gaze wander over the stone walls, over the names of dozens of Boltons already buried here. Now Roose is joining them. Theon’s eye is caught by a marble figure on top of a stone grave, a young man lying on his back, stone hands folded over a stone chest. The statue looks new.

Jon is talking to the vicar, a very peculiar guy. He looks like an aged rowdy, tattoos, scruffy beard and long, thin hair forming a messy knot on top of his head. And he’s drunk. He’s been drunk during the service as well, inappropriately reminding everyone how important it is to know your mushroom 101 and finally managing to set the altar cloth aflame.

Mushrooms. Theon shakes his head. From what he’s heard the housekeeper who’d cooked the dish is being questioned. She may be facing a lawsuit for negligent manslaughter. The poor woman… And what a fantastic act of providence that only Roose ate them… 

No. That’s going too far. Ramsay may be an utter asshole and a fucking sadist, but this is too far. It must’ve been a terrible accident. 

It’s Jon’s turn to speak to Ramsay, and Theon watches his eyes glitter as he takes Jon’s hand into both of his large ones, holding it for way longer than socially acceptable. He edges closer to hear them, hear what it is Ramsay is saying so forcefully it has Jon going pale. He’s trying to pull his hand back, but Ramsay doesn’t let him. 

“You see,” he says sweetly just when Theon comes up behind Jon. “It’s one of my responsibilities now, and I take those very seriously. Ask my old friend Theon. He can tell you how thorough I am in every aspect of my life.” 

His bright eyes meet Theon’s over Jon’s shoulder, and slowly and deliberately Ramsay winks. Theon swallows. Yes he knows. Yes he could tell Jon. And end every possibility of ever becoming more to him. What had happened… it had been bad. Vile. Monstrous. There had been moments where Theon had wanted to die. And yet. And yet he had consented to each and every thing Ramsay had done to him, knowing too well he’d plead him to stop soon enough when Ramsay decided to go even further. 

Anything to make it stop. Anything to make the pain go away. Anything to feel good again. But Ramsay never stopped. 

“We have to go,” he says quietly, tugging on Jon’s free arm. “People will want a drink after this mummery.” 

It’s Monday, the pub should be closed. But Theon suspects the rules don’t apply in special circumstances.

“Theon!” Jon turns to face him, finally able to get his hand out of Ramsay’s paws. “Watch what you’re saying. This is a funeral, it’s Ramsay’s  _ father _ for fuck’s sake–”

“Aye, I’m sure he’s inconsolable.”

It feels like poking a wounded bear with a stick, but Theon can’t help himself. Wherever this sudden bravery - foolishness - is coming from, he welcomes it. Ramsay is watching him through half-lidded eyes, clearly torn between amusement and anger. He smiles at Jon. 

“Remember, Jon. I’m by no means inconsolable. In fact, I’m in desperate need of consolation. And if my current little tenant finds himself unwilling to see to that… I might have to look for a new one.”

Jon takes a step back, his hand finding Theon’s and Ramsay laughs, loud enough to turn several heads. He’s still laughing when they leave the chapel, the sound seeming to follow them down the hill from Castle Bolton. Where Ramsay now is Lord.

***

They get no chance to talk, people are already waiting at the door when they reach the pub, and for the rest of the day they are busy like hell. The atmosphere is different today, no boisterous merriment, no clamouring or laughing. Instead people talk in hushed whispers, their faces worried. What will this new lord be like? Will things change around Thornby? What’ll happen to the poor housekeeper? 

Davos is in too, looking so gloomy Theon decides to risk Jon’s wrath and stop for a moment. When he asks Davos what is wrong he gets a snort in return. 

“Fired me, he did. That new lord. Took me aside on his own father’s bloody funeral to tell me he’s hired a new gamekeeper, one who isn’t an, I quote, leftover hippie who doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut.”

“Oh shit. I’m sorry.” Theon pats Davos’ shoulder consolingly. “But believe me when I tell you this: you don’t want to be around a place Ramsay is the boss of. He’s a piece of shit.”

“I wouldn’t–” Davos pauses, looking at something behind Theon. “I would shut up now.”

When Theon swivels around, panicking at the thought of Ramsay having overheard him, then relieved to see that it’s only Jon. Jon with a very angry mien. 

“Sorry, Davos,” Jon half-growls. “I need to borrow Theon for a minute.”

With Davos’ sympathetic glance in his back Theon follows Jon out of the pub and around the corner. After the warmth of inside it’s bloody freezing, but Jon, only in a tee, doesn’t seem to feel the cold as he angrily corners Theon against a wall. 

“Fucking hell, Theon. Are you out of your mind? Stop talking shit behind my fucking landlord’s back! He’ll hear of it somehow and then he has another reason to terminate my lease. Do you want me to be homeless? Losing all this?”

“Another? What do you mean, another?”

“Fuck.” Jon sighs, backing off a little. “He told me quite blatantly that if I don’t reciprocate his  _ attentions _ in kind soon… You heard the last bit. About getting a new tenant. I’m on very thin ice now, Theon. I can’t piss him off or I’ll lose my pub. My home.” Jon’s face changes from anger to resignation. “Tell me what happened. Between you. I need to know what I’m dealing with here.”

_ Oh god. _

“I can’t.” Theon’s gut clenches as Jon’s face shutters closed. “It’s not… I just can’t. You wouldn’t understand.”

“You don’t trust me.”

“That’s nothing to do with not trusting you. Jon…” Theon steps up to him, balling his fists in frustration when Jon moves away. “Look. Everything that happened between him and me - it wasn’t just his fault. And I need to deal with that fact on my own. Just… just don’t get caught alone with him. Try not to anger him. But whatever you do, please, Jon…” 

Theon takes a deep breath, reaching out to take Jon’s face between his hands, and Jon lets him. 

“Don’t give him  _ that. _ ”

He leans forward, catching Jon’s mouth in a demanding kiss, not a soft, inquisitive one. He draws him close, sucking on his bottom lip, bites that soft plump flesh until Jon shivers and groans, and breaks away. 

“Fuck you,” Jon says, eyes dark and blazing, and walks away from him. 

***

Miraculously, none of the guests have mutineed in their absence, or helped themselves to free liquor. As far as Theon can see they’re all finishing their drinks and getting ready to go, some shooting him curious glances. He tiredly bids the last ones goodnight, deciding to not give a fuck about anything, leave the mess of glasses for tomorrow morning and just go to bed. 

He dreams of Ramsay. It’s one of those dreams where he looks at himself, detached, simply a bystander who watches a performance. He listens to his own voice crying out, pleading with Ramsay to stop, it hurts, too much, please,  _ please stop! _ He hears Ramsay’s impatient huff, shut your big ugly mouth or I’ll show you what’s too much. And then the high-pitched screams when Ramsay makes good on his promise, the guttural groans, the smell of fear and come.

But then the image changes, instead of Theon it’s Jon there on his knees, it’s Jon’s voice desperately begging for everything to just end,  _ please, I’ll do everything, it hurts so much, please stop _ , and Theon doesn’t feel detached anymore, this is something that can  _ not  _ happen and with an incredible effort he tries to move, but something is trapping his hands at his side and he screams–

“Ssshh! It’s me. Theon, wake up!”

His heart beating too fast and sweat already drying on his forehead Theon squints in the darkness, trying to get a grip. A dream. It’s been a dream. His mouth is dry and he angles for the water bottle he keeps next to the bed, his hand bumping into something soft. Someone is here. 

“Jon?” he asks cautiously, dream-Jon’s face contorted with pain still vivid in his mind. “What is it?”

“I couldn’t sleep. I was too angry again, wasn’t I? I’m sorry.”

It’s pitch black and Theon can’t see Jon’s face, but he can feel the weight of his hand through the duvet, above his chest. 

“Can I come in?” Jon’s voice asks somewhere near him, and Theon nods before he realizes what he’s doing. 

“Sure. I mean, sorry… bad nightmare,” he finishes lamely as he lifts the corner of the duvet and scoots over. 

Jon’s hand disappears, the bed dips when he slides inside, and then his hand is back, questing over Theon’s stomach before coming to an abrupt halt.

“What the hell is this?” Jon’s voice is indignant as he grabs the thick jumper Theon sleeps in, letting his fingers slip below only to find another layer. “Why are you dressed like a polar explorer?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, we live in a fucking ice box,” Theon grumbles, but when he turns slightly to the side his hand meets nothing but warm, naked flesh. What the… “Jon, are you starkers?”

“Well,” is the defiant answer. “I’m still wearing pants. God, your hand is freezing! No–” Jon sighs, edging closer until Theon can feel his warm breath washing over his face. “Please don’t stop.”

Slowly Theon returns his hand to Jon’s chest, stroking up and down, driving his thumb over smooth skin and hard edges, over a peaking nipple and down a flat stomach, to a light dusting of fuzzy hair beneath the dip of Jon’s navel and up again. He curses the lack of light, he’d give anything to see Jon right now, see the places his fingers are touching. It feels incredible. 

Jon’s leg slowly inches forward until his thigh is rubbing against Theon’s crotch, against his half-hard cock, and he can’t bite back a moan at the sensation. Immediately Jon’s leg is gone. 

“I’m sorry… sorry… did I hurt you?”

“No, not… Gods, Jon!”

Theon surges forward, pressing his lips to hot skin, having no idea which part of Jon he’s showering in feverish licks and kisses until Jon moves just a little bit and Theon’s lips graze an erect nipple. 

“Aaah…” Jon groans as he arches into Theon, and suddenly his hands are everywhere, urgently shoving at Theon’s clothes. “Get them off. Get them off,  _ please _ , I want–”

Theon complies, and before he even has the jumper and shirt over his head Jon’s hands are back on him, stroking and touching every inch of skin he can reach.

“Fuck, that feels…” Jon interrupts himself with a sigh. “I need - I have no idea what to do.”

“Whatever feels good,” Theon pants, Jon’s fingers find Theon’s nipples, rolling them, teasing and tweaking until he’s sure he’ll explode like this. “What… whatever you want.”

For a moment Jon stops, lying completely still, then his fingers wander across Theon’s chest and up his neck until they ghost over his mouth, only to be replaced by insistent lips a moment later. Jon kisses Theon like it’s his last chance, greedy and open-mouthed, hot, tongue working frantically. His hand glides down, lower and lower until it finds Theon’s. 

“Touch me,” Jon whispers, and presses both their hands against the bulge in his pants. 

Oh god. Jon is so hard… With one practised move Theon pulls out his own hard cock, then Jon’s, crowding closer until they touch. The silky, warm feeling of Jon against him is nearly enough to undo Theon, and with a bitten-off moan he wraps his hand around them both and strokes. 

Jon’s whole body stiffens against him and for a tiny moment Theon thinks he’s got it wrong - then Jon’s mouth finds his again, panting between careless kisses and licks, and suddenly Jon cries out. His cock pulses against Theon’s, hot liquid rolls over his fingers, just a couple more strokes and Theon stifles his own cry against Jon’s mouth. 

It takes a long second before the thrills running through Theon subside, before he realizes Jon is trembling against him, making small, muffled noises of distress. 

“Jon?” he asks, alarmed, reaching out for him, but where just now was Jon’s warm body he feels nothing but cool air. A low thump sounds as Jon crawls out of bed. 

“Sorry… I’m so sorry…”

And with that the door clicks into its lock and the dark is silent again. 

***

_ I’m so sorry… god, I'm so fucking sorry, love. It wasn’t - I did something with someone who’s not you. It’s wrong. It should  _ feel  _ wrong. Why did it feel so good? It was just… good, there’s no other word for it.  _

_ I can still taste him, his mouth, his lips. It’s chasing away the taste of you. I’m losing you, Ygritte. He’s everywhere, around me and under my skin and in my mind. You’re in my heart. But how long until he worms his way in there too, how long until you’re just a vague memory of another life?  _

_ I can’t let you go. I can’t! Fuck, what am I doing? I crave his touch, as if I haven’t just left his bed. All of this happens so fast, I feel like I get a headrush if I don’t stop and take a breath. What am I to do now? Look him in the eye tomorrow and forget how his mouth felt on my skin, how he touched me so intimately, so fucking good? _

_ I shouldn’t be writing about this to you. I should tell you about Roose’s death and the funeral and Ramsay and the fucking creep-tacular show he puts on, not about my indecencies with Theon, with  _ him  _ and he isn’t you. I’m so fucking sorry, love.  _

_ I love you. I’ll never give you up, never.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo.... the smutty times have officially started, as have the really creepy Ramsay times.   
> Thoughts? :D


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! 
> 
> Wuthering Heights, here we come!

If it wasn’t for the dried stains on his sheets Theon would be sure everything was just another one of those tormenting dreams. Jon doesn’t even look at him. He’s already showered and dressed when Theon comes out of his room. And when Theon goes over to him he steps away. 

It surprises him how much it hurts. Theon thinks of all the times he left someone’s bed in the middle if the night, thanks for the fuck and goodbye. He fervently hopes none of them felt what he feels now. Not good enough. The wrong person. Not who Jon really wants. 

And the day only gets worse. When Theon descends the stairs into the pub he can already hear the dreaded voice, can smell the aggressive aftershave Ramsay loves to wear when he’s on the hunt. And he’s cornered his quarry, up against the bar, his fucking hands stroking Jon’s arms as he oozes honeyed words and silky praise. Jon is rigid, his face blank, but he doesn’t try to move away, to Theon’s horror. 

He needs to do something. 

“Ram,” Theon says softly, forcing himself to speak in a voice he’d hoped he’d never hear from himself again. 

It has the desired effect. Ramsay’s head slowly turns, a disbelieving smile starting to form on his lips as he regards Theon, his submissive posture. And then his eyes start glittering and he lets go of Jon, turning his whole body towards Theon, completely focused. 

“Do you want something, pet?” he asks, his expression rapidly changing to pure joy. 

Theon swallows against the lump in his throat, desperately trying to fight the fear roaring through him. He looks at Jon who is watching him with wide eyes as he cautiously backs up and behind the bar. Theon takes a deep breath and smiles at Ramsay, lips closed, meek and shy. 

“Can we talk?”

***

“Where are we going?” Theon asks after twenty minutes of walking in silence. 

“We’re nearly there.” 

Ramsay takes Theon’s arm as they balance over a cattle grid. Beyond that the moor stretches endlessly, dark brown and bleak. It’s beautiful, in a strange, desolate way. Ramsay fits into the landscape as if he were carved from it, his long, strong legs effortlessly navigating the treacherous path, his dark hair whipping around in the icy wind. When he sees Theon shivering, Ramsay drapes his coat over his shoulders. 

It’s another half hour before Theon sees it. There’s not much left except some half-crumbled walls and part of the roof. The chimneys are still intact and there’s something like a stable building to the side, even more ruined than the house. An old farmhouse. On the moors.

“Wuthering Heights,” he whispers. 

“And you coming to haunt me at last.” Ramsay’s fingers dig into his hips, his hot breath washing over Theon’s neck as he steers him forward, towards an opening where once had been a door. “Things can be just the way they were, pet. My Cathy.”

Everything in Theon screams at him to run away, as far and as fast as he can, forget about this, about everything. He looks around the inside of the ruins, starting when he sees what Ramsay wants him to see. A bed. There’s a fucking bed in this fucking place, a stained mattress, worn woolen blankets. 

“I always wanted to fuck you here,” Ramsay murmurs in Theon’s ear. “Here on the moors, in this bed. The best time in my entire life was spent in it.”

Theon stares at one of the stains until it starts to swim before his eyes. It’s brownish, but not quite, more like… 

“Are you even still able to take me? All of me? You’ve been out of training for a long time, pet.” Ramsay’s hand sneaks around Theon’s throat, fondling, squeezing. “We’ll have to break you in again, don’t you think?”

Blood, Theon thinks vaguely, it’s blood. 

“I’ve always loved to see you trembling like you are now. Trembling and whimpering and gaping for me…” Ramsay crowds against Theon, letting him feel the massive hardness in his trousers, growling in his ear. “Dripping with blood and shit and snot and tears and my come, just like the filthy whore you are.”

His voice is gone. His body is shaking violently, revulsion pulsing through his stomach. This can’t be his life again. He’s not going to survive it a second time. 

“You’re going to scream my name, pet, out here in the moors where no one can hear you, you’re going to beg for me like Cathy did for Heathcliff… It will be so sweet.” Ramsay’s free hand pushes in Theon’s back, bending him forward. “And when I’m done with you, when you’re finally broken beyond repair… I’ll start with your pretty little friend in the pub. He’ll be such fun to train!”

It’s a shock as he abruptly comes back to life, as he feels himself swivel around, out of Ramsay’s grasp, and pushes him back, as he remembers what he is doing here. And for whom.

“No,” Theon says, voice raw and high-pitched. “You leave him alone.”

“What…” Ramsay takes a step back, clearly surprised. “Are you jealous, pet? Don’t worry. Even a broken toy can be fun to play with from time to time. I’ll have enough left for you.”

Theon laughs, shrill and hysterical.

“I am not your pet. I will never be your toy again.” Horror is still surging through him, the impulse to cower and beg for forgiveness is strong. He stands taller, fighting it. “You stay away from me. You fucking stay away from Jon. I won’t let you hurt a single hair on his head.” A shiver, a sense of calm washing over him. He drops the coat on the bed, finally able to breathe when it’s gone. “Fuck off, Ramsay.”

Ramsay stands stock still, eyes wide and shocked, but slowly a look Theon knows all too well comes into his eyes. Theon forces himself to remain where he is, take the blow he knows is coming. A part of his brain wonders where it will land, trying to recall the pain Ramsay has inflicted before. A broken rib. Contused jaw. Several teeth breaking under the force of his fist. Stitches just beneath Theon’s hairline. So many bruises. He keeps standing. 

And then Ramsay starts laughing. Theon stares, not believing what he sees. Ramsay is laughing as if he’s heard the best joke ever, wheezing, doubling over, slapping his hands together. 

“That I live to see that day,” he finally gasps, still chuckling. “Little Cathy has found her Linton. Oh pet…” He reaches out, laughing again when Theon flinches back, patting his cheek. “Have you looked in a mirror lately? You’re gross. A fat, ugly whore. Why would he want you?” Another fit of laughter. “I thought I’d take pity on you, but this is even better… Just imagine how different the story will be when Heathcliff fucks Linton into a bloody mess before Catherine’s eyes. Theon, Theon…”

It is too much. He can’t stand it a second longer. 

“See you soon, pet,” Ramsay calls after him cheerfully as Theon starts running. “You and lovely, pretty Jon!”

***

He flees to the safest place he can think of, barging past Gilly when she opens the door. 

“Oi,” she says, looking him up and down with a frown. “You look as if you’ve got a Barguest on your heels.”

The Barguest… Some sort of hellhound, Theon remembers dimly. It’s oddly fitting, and to his own surprise he starts laughing, humourless and desperate. He doesn’t stop when Gilly gently manoeuvres him into the warm kitchen and onto a chair. The laughter turns into gasps when she makes him a steaming hot cuppa strong enough to wake the dead, the gasps turn into sobs when she sits down next to him and lays her hand on his. 

He tells her everything. 

How he’d gone to Pyke for his mother’s funeral, how he’d met him there, sent away by his father just like Theon. They had bonded quickly over that and Theon, vulnerable, had been glad for someone stronger than him, someone to catch him. Someone he could be weak with. And at first it had been good. They had had so much fun, wandering over the island, fooling around in his father’s castle, right under his father’s nose. 

Ramsay had read to him, Jane Eyre, The Tenant of Wildfell Hall. Wuthering Heights. He’d been so intense. As if he’d wanted to eat Theon alive, as if he was all he ever wanted. He’d been obsessed with Theon, never keeping his eyes and hands off him. It had been so good, to feel this wanted. He’d been the first man for Theon, the first he was able to acknowledge this side of him with… the first he wanted to be fucked by. 

And from then everything had changed. 

Gilly is silent when he tells her how much it had hurt, that first time and every time after that. And still Ramsay had managed somehow to make it good for him in the end, make him come and cry and beg for more before hating himself and begging for everything to stop. He’d said yes to everything Ramsay had wanted to try. If he hadn’t… 

He describes the long scar on his thighs, the one he’d earned for disobedience. How he’d grown thinner and thinner, everything to please Ramsay who didn’t like him with too much flesh on his ribs. How his sister had finally visited, horrified with his appearance. How she’d convinced him to leave, Pyke and Ramsay. How he had. He tells her of the months after, staying in a cheap motel, getting his teeth fixed and finding a coping method for all the shit, for the nightmares. 

Sex. With anyone who showed interest. 

When he’s done, Theon feels empty. Better. It’s surprising, how light he feels after telling someone. Someone whose face isn’t showing judgment or pity, only sympathy and concern. Gilly hasn’t said a single word during his outpour, simply listening. Now she sighs. 

“I always knew he was a bad person, from the first second he came into the pub. And of course I know the rumours, but this…”

“Rumours?” Theon asks weakly. “What rumours?”

“About why Roose had sent him away all that time ago. Are you sure you want to hear this?” Upon Theon’s nod she takes a deep breath. “Alright. Did you know he had an older brother? Ramsay?”

Theon shakes his head, confused. Surely Ramsay would’ve told him. 

“He was a sweet boy. Everyone liked Domeric. He was about my age, but of course I was never allowed to play with him, the lordling and the travelling girl… He was nice. Never called us names or treated us like dirt. I wasn’t around here when Roose brought his other son home - he must’ve been around ten at the time - so everything I’ll tell you now is just talk.”

Theon holds his breath. 

“They were inseparable from the start. Dom looked after his new little half-brother, loved him more than anything. But something wasn’t right about this new kid, people didn’t like him. They felt uncomfortable around him. Pets disappeared… Davos found skinned rabbits or foxes in the woods.”

Theon shudders. 

“But it all came to a head when Dom was seventeen… Ramsay must’ve been fifteen or sixteen. No one knows what exactly happened, only that the boys went out on the moors like almost every day. Only that day Ramsay came back alone, white as a ghost. A helicopter came and took Domeric, something went wrong… He almost died, but Roose had him brought to a private institution where they kept him alive, just so. Ramsay was sent away, which gave people the impression he had something to do with Dom’s accident.”

Gilly takes a deep breath, her face sad.

“It’s about eight months now that he died.”

***

It’s already dark when Theon comes home. The pub is unlit, as is the flat. There’s no sound coming from Jon’s room, nor from the attic. Theon sinks onto the couch after having checked Loki’s bowls. Both are full and he makes a mental note to thank Jon tomorrow. There’s still a glimmer of ambers in the fire and Theon stares at it, too tired to move. If he went to bed he’d inevitably have nightmares, he just knows that. 

“Hey.”

Theon looks up at the low voice, at Jon standing in the door of Theon’s room. His hands are buried in the pockets of his sweatpants and he looks as if he’s just woken up. It’s a relief to see him and Theon smiles, warmth spreading through him when Jon smiles back tentatively. 

“I thought you might go straight to bed when you come home. I waited for you.” Jon rubs the back of his head sheepishly. “Guess I fell asleep in your bed. Sorry.”

“S’okay,” Theon mumbles, the thought of Jon waiting in his bed tugging at his heart. “I didn’t mean to be out the whole fucking day.”

“Are you okay?” Jon pushes himself off the doorframe and taps closer on bare feet. “You look exhausted. He… didn’t hurt you or anything, right?”

“No, not - nothing like that.”

“Did you…” Jon sits down next to Theon, playing with the hem of his shirt. “Did you hook up?”

“What?” Theon turns to look at him in disbelief. Jon isn’t looking back, biting his lip. “God, no. Not… never again. I only meant to get him off your back.” He shrugs apologetically. “Not that it would’ve worked.”

“Good. I mean, that you didn’t…” Jon finally looks up. “I don’t want to tell you what you can and can’t do, but if we want this… us… to work, if we really want to try. Then it has to be just me for you. If that is okay.” He blushes furiously. “I have no idea if there is any rule - I’ve heard that people who are… that they don’t do monogamy but... I do. No matter who I’m with. Just you and me.”

“Just you and me,” Theon echoes, firmly holding Jon’s gaze. “And don’t you listen to what people say. Everyone is different. There’s no such thing as rules. You do what feels good. For you and your… your partner.”

It’s easier to say than he ever thought it would be. Just Jon. The thought is exhilarating instead of oppressing. Liberating. He can stop his fruitless search for something to distract him from all the shit. He can stop trying to find someone for a minute or an hour just to feel wanted, just to not be lonely for that time. He’s wanted here.

Jon reaches out, catching Theon’s neck and drawing him against his mouth in a surprisingly fierce kiss, full of promises. 

“Let’s go to bed,” he whispers, leading the way to Theon’s room.

***

_ Hi love. _

_ Theon is gone, together with Ramsay Bolton. I don’t know where they are and what they’re doing. I’m scared they might… no idea. Theon says he’s bad, and he is, but when he asked him if they could talk his voice was… and how he looked… What if he’s not over Ramsay? Whatever they were?  _

_ He’s horrible, the new Lord Bolton. He tried to grope me when Theon came down and I just couldn’t do anything. I can’t lose this place,  _ our  _ place, Ygritte, the one we planned to live in for the rest of our lives. So I stood still, but hell I was uncomfortable.  _

_ A part of me thinks Theon tried to distract Ramsay from me. Another part fears they might be rekindling their relationship, whatever it was. And the largest part - I’m afraid he’ll hurt Theon. Maybe the rumours are true after all. Maybe he did cause his brother’s ‘accident’.  _

_ I’m going to do it, love. I’m going to tell Theon what I need from him. Commitment. And it’s so fucking ironic, because I don’t want to commit myself to him. Can’t. Not yet. I still feel torn, not like myself. I’m not ready to let you go. I love you more than anything, but I think I’m falling in love with Theon.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ramsay is so mean!!!   
> Poor Theon... 
> 
> What do you think? :)


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! 
> 
> A little warning for today's chapter: a lot of mentioning of Boltoncest and Ramsay outcreeping himself.

Waking up is warm this time, comfortable. It takes Theon a second before he realizes  _ why _ he’s so warm, despite not wearing his sleep jumper. Jon isn’t touching him, but his almost naked body is radiating heat like an oven. Smiling to himself Theon creeps closer, thinking of how he fell asleep, snugly nestled into Jon’s side. No nightmares. Just Jon. 

His morning hard-on is pressing against Jon’s butt, but Theon doesn’t dare to wake him with any advances. It’s too early for that, this thing between them too fragile. So he just wraps his arm around Jon’s waist and buries his face in his neck, eyes closing again. It’s not even six. He can give Jon at least another hour. 

“Are you trying to get through my pants with that?” 

Or wake him up via boner, Theon thinks guiltily as Jon turns around in his arms, sleepily aiming for Theon’s mouth and kissing his nose instead. 

“And a good morning to you,” Theon says, then pauses when something suspiciously hard nudges his thigh insistently. “You’re one to talk, Horseface. Unless you carry a roll of change to bed with you, this is a very impressive erection.”

“Mmh, no change,” Jon mumbles, nosing along Theon’s jaw until Theon tilts his head and their lips meet. 

They share warm, lazy kisses for a while, until Jon’s hand starts to get adventurous and slips under Theon’s shirt. Theon shudders as curious fingers wander over his belly, crawl up his chest until they find a nipple. Jon splays out his hand over the muscle, teasing the nipple with his thumb until it’s stiff and Theon groans.

“You wouldn’t be in the mood to take care of my very impressive erection, would you?” Jon asks, voice carefully innocent. Then he snorts. “Okay, that sounded absolutely ridiculous.”

“No, very sexy,” Theon assures him before he starts kissing down Jon’s neck and throat, mumbling into the space between his pecs. “Irresistible, really.”

Jon laughs, then the laugh turns into a gasp when Theon takes an erect nipple between his teeth and tugs. 

“Fuck…”

Encouraged, Theon slides lower, taking his time to map out the lines and hollows of Jon’s stomach with his tongue. He nips at the side of Jon’s belly button and watches Jon’s stomach muscles tighten. 

“Please,” Jon says and when Theon looks up his eyes are half-closed, his cheeks flushed. “Please,  _ do _ something!”

Do something… Theon pauses, deeply inhaling Jon’s scent. It’s heady, a warm mixture of musk and shower gel, overlaid with the smell of arousal. He noses at the fabric covering Jon’s crotch, noticing a damp little spot where Jon’s dick is leaking little droplets already. He gently bites down on the outline of the hard length and Jon cries out. 

His hands come to tangle in Theon’s hair, tugging, shoving. He grins. Jon is so desperate for it… With a quick move Theon pulls the pants off and without further ado swallows Jon down. 

“ _ God… _ ” 

Jon writhes, shudders, thrusts up, and Theon holds him down with both hands as he takes what he can. Jon isn’t big, a lovely, average size, perfect to lick around, to suck back without hurting his throat, without straining his jaw for days. And the taste of him… Jon’s fists tighten in Theon’s hair as he bobs his head faster, listening to Jon’s moans and bitten-off words. 

“Fuck, I… aaah…”

He can feel Jon’s stomach contracting and pulls back until only the head remains in his mouth, wrapping his hand around the shaft and stroking. Jon pants, groans, and warm, salty liquid starts to gush into Theon’s mouth. 

Softly pulling off Theon grimaces. This part he doesn’t like much, it’s too bitter and thick, but it would be very rude to fuck off to the bathroom now. He swallows, cringing at the feeling of Jon’s come sliding down his throat. At least he could control it himself. 

“Hah,” Jon says, dazed, and Theon crawls up to place a little kiss on his soft, smiling mouth. “That was amazing.”

“I usually am, yes,” Theon confirms when he lays his head against Jon’s shoulder. 

He’s half-hard, not in any hurry to get off himself. Jon turns over, pulling Theon against his chest. His heart is still beating a little faster than normal and Theon closes his eyes. This for an indefinable future? Fine by him. 

“Ygritte loved to do that.”

A cold chill runs over Theon’s back as his eyes snap open. What? 

“She was so good… Always taking everything.”

Jon’s voice is drowsy, as if he’s on the brink of falling asleep again. Theon is wide awake. It’s a huge effort to stay calm but he manages, disentangling himself from Jon’s arm. Biting his lips to not say what he wants to say Theon climbs out of bed stiffly, ignoring Jon’s questioning call. 

“Theon? What… Where are you going?”

_ Away. Away, away, away, away.  _

He dresses quickly, still fighting the words threatening to spill from his mouth, biting his tongue hard to keep them in. He needs to get out. Jon mustn’t hear that, not right now, not… Jon mustn’t see his fucking tears.

***

He doesn’t pay much attention to where his feet are carrying him. The only clear thought left is to get away. Angrily Theon wipes at his face. What was he even thinking? It’ll never be just the two of them. She’s always going to be there, like a horrible parody of three people in one bed. A threesome with a memory. 

_ Fuck _ . 

Arms wrapped around himself Theon walks on, barely seeing the road before him. Was Jon thinking of her the whole time? Imagining her mouth on him, her hair under his fingers? How many times has she been in that position, how often has Jon looked like that, moaned like that? Theon shudders, suppressing an anguished groan. He’ll be compared to her every time, whatever he does. 

He pauses, looking up, and huffs weakly as he sees the walls of Castle Bolton looming over him. Of fucking course. He’s already in this mood, why not go and torture himself further, get a little tortured? And Ramsay had been right, hadn’t he? Jon doesn’t want him. Jon wants his girlfriend. Theon just happens to be there, a convenient fill-in. 

He continues on the path. To his right is the chapel, the one where Roose’s funeral had taken place. Curious, Theon tries the door, finding it open. He slips inside. It’s just as cold as it is outside, but at least there’s no wind. Slowly he walks down the aisle, letting his gaze roam over the tombs and pews and stained-glass windows, but he gets caught by the tomb figure of the young man - the same one he noticed when he came last time. Theon stops. Can that be…

He walks over, studying the stone face for a moment before crouching down and reading the engravings. 

_ Domeric Bolton. Beloved son and brother. Rest now, darling boy _ . 

“Don’t you dare touch him.”

Theon jumps up so fast he gets dizzy, staring in horror at Ramsay’s figure descending from the shadows behind the pulpit. 

“He was too good for the likes of you.” Ramsay sways, and Theon’s gaze is drawn by the wine bottle in his hand. He’s drunk, his voice slurred. “Too good for the likes of me.”

Theon retreats until his back hits the cold stone wall when Ramsay comes stumbling over, dropping down heavily onto the side of the tomb. He looks horrible, red spots in his cheeks, eyes bloodshot, lips stained from the wine.

“Ah, Dom…” he mutters, raising a heavy hand to lay it on the statue’s chest, right over the folded hands. “He loved me. Loved me with all his heart, from the first moment we met.” Ramsay hiccups, head falling forward so his face is hidden behind limp strands of hair. “He accepted me into his family, played with me, looked after me. I never knew anything like it before.”

This… it sounds so genuine. Nothing like Ramsay. 

“When I kissed him the first time and he let me… he always did. He took everything I wanted to give him, gave me everything back. Perfect, so perfect…” Ramsay’s hand strokes the marble ones lovingly. “Always so good, my beloved brother, always taking me so well…”

Theon listens in horrified silence, not sure if Ramsay is still aware of his presence. 

“We were made for each other.” Ramsay’s voice takes on a reverent tone. “So many times, so many things, and whatever I did to him… he loved me. Loved all of me, the deepest, darkest parts of my soul. It was an accident.” Ramsay looks up, turns his head until his swimming gaze finds Theon’s. “I never meant to hurt him, not in any way he didn't want. I remember so well… every detail.”

_ Oh god. _

“How he looked lying there on his back, drooling and smiling, and no matter how deep I went he just asked for more. And fuck, I gave him more. I gave him everything.” Ramsay grins, lips stretched over his teeth in a horrible grimace. “You remember, pet? Elbow-deep.”

Theon winces, forgetting how to breath. He remembers.  

“And suddenly his eyes rolled back in his head and he screamed, he screamed so loud and it was different than the normal screams and then there was so much blood…” Ramsay exhales slowly. “I’ll never forget the smell. I ran. Ran to my father, told him there’d been a terrible accident. They took Dom away. He lived. A fucking vegetable. I fucked my brother, my only love, into a fucking vegetable.” 

His fist hits the stone, he grits his teeth. 

“And now he’s dead. Left me before I had the chance to say goodbye.” Ramsay pants, swaying dangerously. “All Father’s fault… he wouldn’t let me see him, wouldn’t trust me to not hurt him. He sent me to that dreadful island of yours… Father payed for that. Oh but he payed.”

It’s too much to take in. Theon can feel the bile rising in his throat, his knees threatening to give out.

“Perfect.” Ramsay’s face contorts, he sobs, a harsh, broken sound, he bends down and kisses the cold marble lips. “He was my love.”

“Your Catherine,” Theon whispers. “Not me. Him.”

“Him.” Ramsay chuckles humorlessly. “Yes. You were never anything but a weak replacement. Conveniently there when I got bored. All your whimpering and crying… You were nothing but an Isabella.” A low growl. “Fuck off, Isabella. Fuck off and leave us alone.”

Theon does. He walks out and down the path until the castle is out of sight, until he crouches down on the side of the road, buries his face in his hands and weeps for Domeric Bolton, for himself, and maybe for the one tiny part of Ramsay that once loved another being.

***

_ I am officially the worst person ever. What was I even thinking? I wasn’t. I was blissed out, sleepy - that’s no excuse. Not at all. How could I say that?? It must’ve been like a punch in the face for him. Oh god, his face… as if something really important had been taken away. I didn’t even realize what was wrong until he was gone. I was so puzzled, everything had been so good… _

_ And then it hit me. What exactly I said. After he just… God, I’m such an idiot. For a moment I was stunned, then I rushed after him but too late. I have no idea where he went, he didn’t even take his fucking jacket. What he must be thinking… Fucking IDIOT. Me. I wasn’t even thinking of you during… It’s true, I’m sorry, Ygritte.  _

_ Ygritte. Ygritte. Who the fuck am I even kidding. I’m not talking to Ygritte. She can’t hear me. I’m talking to myself. I’m keeping a fucking diary, not a connection to my girlfriend. Who isn’t here anymore. Not with me. Hasn’t been for nearly ten years, And yet I cling to this, to her. Hurting my chance for a new love, for a new life.  _

_ And no, it isn’t the life I wanted. The life that I planned, the life that was laid out before me. A daughter, a dog, a pub in the country and my one love. Maybe another kid one day. A big family. With Theon it would be a completely different life. No children. Just us. It’ll always be just us. But that isn’t a bad thing. Just different. It can be good if I let them go. If I let him in.  _

_ If he even still wants me.  _

_ I wish he would come back. I want to wrap my arms around him and tell him I’m sorry, that it won’t happen again. I’ll never forget my family. But I can’t go on comparing Theon to Ygritte. Yes, they do have things in common. The archery, the foul mouth, the whisky drinking, the absolute pigheadedness, the ability to annoy me to my very bones. But that’s not why I fell for him. It was all the other things. The parts that are only him.  _

_ His ability to make me laugh. How he was there for me. How he looks so smug when he thinks he’s winning. How he has no idea how often I let him win on purpose just to see this look. His hand in mine, that moment when that arrogant smirk of his turns into a real, soft smile. His eyes. So beautiful, so vulnerable beneath the displayed confidence. I love his eyes.  _

_ I think I may fall in love with him.  _

_ ~ _

_ He finally came home in the afternoon. Thank god there weren’t many guests, he wasn’t in any shape to stay down. He didn't even look at me when he came in, just dragged himself past the bar and upstairs. And then Sam came in and I asked him to look after the bar for me and went up to the flat. He was on the couch, curled up into himself.  _

_ I sat next to him and stroked his back. He let me, but didn’t say a word. So I just talked. Told him how sorry I was. That I hadn’t meant anything by saying what I said, that it was him I was thinking of and no one else. He didn’t say anything. Not a word. All he did was shrug. I don’t think he believed me, so I tried to show him.  _

_ But he wasn’t… I think he wasn’t in the mood. Or maybe he was still too hurt. He didn’t return my kisses, didn’t get hard under my hands. Maybe I fucked this up for good. Had to go down again for dinner. He didn’t seem to care. But later when I came back and took him to bed he didn’t balk when I drew him into my arms. I wanted to tell him. But I couldn’t find the courage to do it. _

_ I waited till he was asleep before I said it. “I’m falling in love with you.” _

_ This is the last time. A closure of sorts. I’m crying so hard I can barely hold the pen but… I need to do this.  _

_ If you can hear me, please know that I love you, Ygritte. You and Lyanna will forever have a special place in my heart. I will never forget you. But now it’s time to live in the moment again. And for the future. _

_ Goodbye my love.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Insensitivity, thy name is Jon. At least he realizes when he fucked up. Poor boy is determined to make it right. 
> 
> Any thoughts? :)
> 
> On a side note, Isabella Linton really was the poorest creature in Wuthering Heights. Heathcliff married her just to spite Cathy and Edgar, and to have someone to torment. Because she's not Cathy. He's such a psycho.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and welcome to the chapter of almost nothing but sex! Which will from now on be a steady companion. 
> 
> A big thank you again to my wonderful friend @half_life who is the bestest!!! So amazing I had to find a bigger word than best :)

Theon looks over at Jon from where he’s making himself a cuppa at the kitchen unit. It’s Monday, and surprisingly enough he doesn’t like not having anything to do. It gives him too much time to think. Mostly about himself these days, as selfish as that is. But it’s hard to come to terms with… There’s no way around it. All the things he endured on Ramsay’s hands, all the time telling himself that these things had been done out of, if not love, then some kind of obsession. And to learn he’d never meant anything at all to him… It’s hard. 

Jon takes a seat at the small dining table, eyes concerned and confused. Theon knows Jon doesn’t understand why he avoids him during the day. Theon doesn’t quite understand it himself. Maybe it’s the illusion that has been shattered. Maybe it’s that he doesn’t want to be another replacement for someone who’s long gone. Theon takes a sip from his cup, trying to ignore Jon’s gaze. It’s no wonder he’s confused. Theon tries to stay away from him at night, too, but when Jon slips into bed with him he can never resist the urge to press himself against him, the warmth from his naked skin soothing and comforting. 

“Do you want to come with me later?” Jon asks. “Going to Darlington for some stuff.” Theon shrugs and Jon sighs. “Please, Theon. I apologized. I’m so very sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Theon mutters, but of course it isn’t. No matter what, Ygritte will always have been there first. Only she. She’s formed Jon, his expectations, his likes, it’s all hers. Nothing will ever be just Theon’s. 

“Hey.”

Theon lifts his gaze to see that Jon has gotten up. He comes over, until he’s standing so close their bodies nearly touch. Theon studies Jon’s face. He seems unsure, but then his expression changes, becomes determined. His hands come up and slowly he starts to unbuckle Theon’s belt. Theon doesn’t move, just waits as Jon undoes his jeans button and pulls the zip down. His dick twitches. Jon looks up at him from underneath his lashes, shy. 

“I have never done this before,” he says softly. “You have to tell me if I do anything wrong.”

And with that he sinks onto his knees, dragging Theon’s jeans and pants down with him. Theon can only stare as Jon gently takes his dick in hand, stroking up and down a few times until Theon is half hard. He leans forward, resting his forehead against Theon’s belly, and lets his lips glide along the shaft. 

“What.” Theon clears his throat, swallows. “What are you doing?”

“I don’t know,” Jon murmurs. “Getting acquainted, I guess.”

“Oh,” Theon whispers, then, “gods,  _ Jon _ ,” when he rubs his cheek against Theon’s dick. The mix of rough beard and soft skin feels incredible. Jon hums, contented, as if there was nothing he’d rather do than nuzzle Theon’s dick. 

“Feels so soft,” he mutters, more to himself than Theon. “Warm.”

He wraps his fingers around it and pulls his head back, hesitating a moment before opening his lips and leaning in, sucking lightly at the tip. Theon can feel his tongue wetly swiping over the slit, dipping in, and Jon hums contentedly and sinks forward. The sound vibrates through Theon; the feeling of Jon’s hot mouth turns his bones to water. 

It’s been a while since someone has done this to him, and it’s the first time it’s done with such absolute single-mindedness. Jon works slowly, he isn’t rushing it, taking his time. His fingers stroke what he doesn’t fit into his mouth, squeezing gently. His tongue laps at the underside of Theon’s dick, alternating between long flat strokes and short licks. 

Theon’s head falls back as Jon hollows his cheeks, swallows, a little drool dripping out of the corner of his mouth as he tries to take Theon deeper - and succeeds. He’s gagging for a just a second, but before Theon can pull back Jon relaxes his throat and keeps going until he has his nose in Theon’s pubic hair. He swallows around Theon’s dick, then starts to bob his head. 

It wakes Theon from his stunned silence. “Fuck,  _ yes, _ ” he moans, gripping fistfuls of silky black hair. “Just… just like that… a little less teeth…  _ god,  _ yes, perfect, so good,  _ Jon…” _

And how he looks… it has to be the prettiest sight Theon has ever seen, Jon on his knees with his eyes closed, lashes fluttering as his lips stretch around Theon’s cock, as he rubs himself through his jeans… And the sounds he makes… little noises of contentment and arousal, as if  _ he _ was the one being sucked off, as if he enjoys it just as much as Theon–

“Jon,” he moans, “I fucking love you so–”

Jon’s eyes fly open, startled and wide, and Theon drowns in them, forgetting to hold back, forgetting everything but the look in them as he comes in long gushes, legs trembling and going weak as sparks burst at the edges of his vision. 

When the spasms won’t stop he gives in, letting himself glide to the floor. And Jon is there, lips puffy and wet, mouth tasting faintly of come, but Theon doesn’t care. He kisses him as if their lives depend on it, as if it could make Jon love him back. He doesn’t say anything, just kisses Theon with equal urgency.

“Not bad for a first time,” Theon says once Jon has released him, forcedly keeping his voice light. “But by all means, you’re welcome to practise at any time.”

“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.” Jon reaches out to stroke Theon’s hair back from his face. He looks at him earnestly, eyes deep and warm. “You mean a lot to me. More than I thought anyone could ever mean to me again.”

Theon smiles, leaning in for another kiss. Maybe this has to be enough. It’s already a lot. 

***

“I need a fucking shower,” Theon groans as he stumbles through the door, trying not to drop his Morrisons bags. “I feel sticky.”

“Wouldn’t know why,” Jon says from behind him. “I swallowed most of it.”

“Most of it isn’t all of it. And the third time when you thought you have to cough and spray me with my own come–”

“It was still only my third time. And the fourth time went without a hitch.” Jon dumps his bags on a table and crosses his arms, clearing his throat. “I think I’ll caw like a crow for at least two days.”

It’s true, Jon sounds decidedly hoarse. Theon walks over, meaning to kiss Jon’s complaining mouth, but when he leans forward he can’t help laughing. 

“You need a shower as well, darling,” he says gleefully. “You’ve got some in your hair.”

“Wha–” 

The look of horror on Jon’s face is marvellous, and Theon quickly kisses his cheek before sprinting to the stairs. 

“Losers freeze!” he yells over his shoulder, giggling when Jon answers with something very rude. 

The shower is amazing. Theon carefully soaps himself up, gently dragging back the skin to give his dick a proper wash before giving it a loving pat.

“I’m impressed,” he tells it. “Four times in six hours. Didn’t think we still had it in us.”

But no wonder, really. Jon’s mouth should be UNESCO world heritage. Or protected by law, or insured for a million quid or something. Theon is sure he’s never gotten such enthusiastic head in his whole life. Lucky Ygritte, he thinks, if Jon had even been half as talented with her as with dick. Theon’s dick. No other dick before that. No matter if they make it, no matter what happens… his will always be the first dick Jon sucked. 

He squeezes another dollop of shower gel on his hand, rubbing his hands together before reaching behind himself to soap up his backside. It never fails to amaze him how, after all that had happened, everything had gone back to pretty much normal after some serious rest. Now he even feels tight around his fingers. It’s been some time since someone had fucked him, at least a year. 

Theon tries to remember who it had been but gives up quickly. Some bar, some guy, not particularly memorable. After that only girls, until that ineffable night with Roslin. Since then nothing. And now he has Jon. Jon, who has a pretty, nicely sized dick. Theon twists his fingers deeper, feeling his arse stretch and adapt easily, gasping when he nudges at his prostate. His dick twitches, peeking up, and Theon grins down on it. 

“So… I gather you approve of the idea?”

When he’s done using up the hot water Theon takes a deep breath before stepping up to the fogged mirror - and starts laughing.  _ Twatwaffle _ , it says in Jon’s handwriting on the smeared glass. Nice one. He almost regrets having to wipe it off but he really needs to take a proper look at himself. 

After shaving and thoroughly brushing his teeth - can’t hurt - Theon pokes at his chest and sighs. Can’t do anything about that, nor about his ridiculously fleshy hips. Well, maybe he can keep his shirt on. Or persuade Jon to wear a blindfold… Theon tries to remember how Ygritte had looked like. Very skinny. Did she have much in the way of tits? Theon thinks not. So Jon probably is into the skinny type. No more cakes, Theon resolves. 

When he comes down into the pub Jon isn’t in the bar anymore. Theon finds him in the kitchen, furiously scrubbing at his neck with Gilly’s steel scourer. He’s pale, all the light mood from before vanished. Concerned, Theon walks over and plucks the scourer out of Jon’s hand. The skin on his neck is red and raw. 

“Please don’t tell me you’re scrubbing away like that because you got come on you,” Theon says in an attempt to get Jon to smile. “It’s not radioactive, you know.”

“What?” Jon blinks. “Oh, no… just.” He swallows, grimaces. “Just some nasty dirt.” He takes a deep breath, gaze focussing. “Can we do something?”

“Sure,” Theon says slowly. “What do you want to do?”

“Anything.” Jon’s hand wanders to his neck but he stops it in its track, a fierce look coming into his eyes. With a quick move he pulls Theon against him, mouth hot and demanding while his other hand is already working his own belt. “If you… can you still…”

“Even if I couldn’t I’d still owe you one. Or four.” Theon hisses when Jon palms roughly at his crotch. “But… fuck… I think we’re good.”

“Good… yes…” Jon’s jeans are already down and he has himself in hand, stroking his dick with desperate urgency. “ _ Do something then.” _

“Fuck me,” Theon says, unable to take his eyes off of Jon’s hand on his dick. It stops mid-stroke, Jon stills, staring at him. Theon swallows. “If… if you want to?” 

Jon makes a strangled noise, hand leaving his dick to fist into Theon’s jumper. His kiss is a bite, pain surging through Theon together with a hot wave of arousal. Theon moans, then yelps in surprise when Jon spins him around and unceremoniously bends him over the kitchen table. His jeans are ripped down and cool air hits Theon’s buttocks, covering them in goosebumps. 

“ _ Yes,”  _ Jon murmurs, squeezing Theon’s arse and pulling his cheeks apart, “god, yes.”

Jon’s fingers are warm and wet with spittle, moving up and down the crack and rubbing circles around Theon’s hole. He bites his lip, gasps when Jon applies pressure. 

“What can I use…” Jon mutters to himself. “I don’t have…”

He’s gone, cabinets are opened and shut and Theon lays his cheek on the polished wooden surface, waiting. His dick is achingly hard, trapped between his belly and the table.

“Ah, perfect.”

He starts when suddenly Jon’s fingers are back, slick and oily. He doesn’t waste much time, driving one into Theon, in and out a few times before adding a second. 

“Feels good,” Jon rumbles lowly, and Theon can only agree. 

Jon definitely knows what he is doing, his fingers drill and spread, having Theon open and keening in just a minute. A part of Theon’s brain that isn’t occupied with  _ more, please more _ , wonders where Jon’s expertise is coming from. Women don’t have prostates, but Jon finds Theon’s effortlessly, stroking it firmly with three fingers until Theon sees stars. 

“Ready?” Jon asks, voice rough and shaking. 

Theon pants, keens, nods, frantical and wordless. The fingers leave him dripping and open, but in a moment he can feel Jon’s dick nudging, pressing, the head popping through and Theon arches his back. 

“Fuck me,” he gasps, and with a groan Jon sinks forward, not stopping until Theon can feel coarse hair against his arse. Jon breathes heavily behind him, not moving, his hard length hot inside Theon and it feels so good to be filled again like this, filled by  _ Jon _ , and Theon whimpers, thrusting back. 

“ _ God…” _

A shiver runs through Jon, his hands grip onto Theon’s hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh but Theon doesn’t have room in his mind to be ashamed, because now Jon starts to fuck him. The glide is smooth, easy, it feels so fucking good and when Jon confidently hits the right spot Theon cries out. 

“So good…” Jon grunts with effort, tightening his grip. “Love this, having you like that, fuck, Theon… you feel so  _ good!” _

Theon shivers, greedily moving back against Jon’s cock, he wants more. “Harder,” he demands, begs, cries, screams when Jon obeys and quickens his thrusts to the point where the whole table rocks under them. With some difficulty Theon moves his hand beneath his body, wrapping his fingers around his throbbing cock.

“Aaah…”

Jon surges forward hard, hitting Theon’s prostate dead on and Theon’s dick pulses as he squeezes it, Jon tenses, his fingers digging hard into Theon’s hips and he comes, endless waves of heat filling Theon and he screams as his dick spurts a tiny dribble of come onto the table. 

It seems like hours before he can feel Jon pulling out, before Theon is able to lift his head from the tabletop. His arse is leaking, still feeling open and slick, but in a moment Jon is back with a wet cloth which he gently rubs over Theon’s backside. He doesn’t say anything and so Theon doesn’t either, but when Jon is done cleaning him he turns around. And thinks he’ll start crying. Jon’s face is like a light, eyes soft and full of wonder, his lips warm as he leans in for a kiss. 

“You’re amazing,” he whispers, hands coming up to stroke Theon’s face, his mouth, his hair. “Was it… for you..?”

“Amazing,” Theon echoes, heart jolting when Jon smiles his beautiful smile. “I just fear I will never be able to look Gilly in the eyes again.”

***

“I forgot to ask,” Theon says that evening when they sit on the couch, both with half a cat sprawled across their laps. “What was it that you took as…”

“Oh.” Jon’s cheeks redden. “Olive oil. At first I thought butter, you know, that movie…”

“God, no.” Theon shudders. “Olive oil was the wise choice. But if you plan on buggering me in Gilly’s kitchen again I suggest we go and get some proper stuff.”

“Kitchen. Bedroom. Shower.” Jon’s eyes sparkle. “Couch?”

“Mrrr,” says Loki, tail twitching as he looks up at Jon, eyes green slits in his round little face. 

“Yeah, I’m with the cat,” Theon remarks, laughing when Jon pulls a disappointed pout. “I’ve come five times today, man. There’s a limit to the amounts of jizz I can produce.”

“ _ One _ time,” Jon says pointedly, leaning in for a short kiss. “And I think you still owe me some blowjobs.”

“Can I get a cuppa first?” Theon grins when Jon immediately gets up, to Loki’s protest. “Two sugars, sugar. I suspect I need my strength now that I’ve awakened the animal in you.”

***

_ Dear Diary... _

_ Okay, no, I can’t do this. I tried not writing for a couple days but I think I’ll go mad without getting my thoughts down. I can’t continue writing to Ygritte, not if I want to fully have this new life. With someone else. With Theon. But “dear diary” actually sounds so dumb I think I’ll just write to myself or something like that. Dear Jon… Hell no. I’ll just fucking write. Whatever. _

_ So, what a day, huh? I’m so glad Theon is his old self again. Well, not his old old self, but the one I fell in love with. In love. IN LOVE. How come I can write it but not tell him? Anyway, of course a blowjob was the key to make him smile again. Men are animals. And yes, turns out I love sucking dick. Shouldn’t be that surprised, if I could’ve lived with my head between Ygritte’s thighs I totally would have.  _

_ It’s so fucking addictive. The weight on my tongue, the hardness I can barely swallow around, the taste of him and his come - when he sucked me off he made a face so I thought it’d be gross but I actually rather like it - and then the sounds he makes! And how he looks at me, as if I was the best thing ever. Those eyes... _

_ I sucked him off three more times, once in the bar on the way to the car, once in the Morrisons loos and once on the way back in a parking bay on the moors. My jaw really hurts and I sound like Janis Joplin - had to bite my lips really hard not to sing Me and Bobby McGee on our way home - but fuck, so worth it. I thought it was the best day ever since all that terrible stuff happened. Apart from the come IN MY HAIR. I was so horny, fantasizing about what to do to him later... _

_ So of fucking course Lord creep-ass Bolton had to come and ruin everything. He snuck in when Theon was in the shower - thank god he wasn’t here - and I was putting away the liquor. He ambushed me and trapped me behind the bar. I told him we’re closed but he just laughed and came closer. “Not for me,” he said and, “you better be  _ all open  _ for me.” _

_ I really didn’t know how to answer that but apparently my participation in that conversation wasn’t necessary anyway. He proceeded to remind me what would happen if I don’t let him, quote, “play with me.” I’m ashamed to write that down. I stood still when his greedy hands ran all over me, when he rubbed himself against me, when he fucking licked my neck. I wanted to puke. Thought of just slamming my knee into his groin, but...  _

_ This is my home. It’s the home I wanted to have with my family. I can’t lose it, can’t bear the thought of leaving it behind. I mean, there’s Lyanna’s room. I haven’t been up there for a while but it feels good to know it’s there. And now I’m filling this place with new memories, with Theon. How can I just give it up? I have to think of something. Next time that fucker may not be satisfied with slobbering all over my neck.  _

_ Once he left I ran into the kitchen and wiped his spit off but that wasn’t enough. Had to fucking scrape the outer layer off before I felt better. And then Theon came down, clean and fresh and handsome and with that smile I love so much. And then I got so angry. Fucking Bolton had killed my mood thoroughly but I sure as hell wouldn’t let him ruin that.  _

_ It was amazing. The first time I was in someone’s - you know. Ygritte said she didn’t like it so of course I never proposed that to her. But I remember the mechanics well enough from the times when she fucked me. I think I did it right. The sounds he made… And how he felt around me, slick heat gripping my cock so tight… He’s amazing. It didn’t take much to get him ready, far less than I always needed, but then I did it, like what, about once a month over half a year? And not after Ygritte was too big to properly do it.  _

_ I don’t care what he did. How many dicks were in there. I feel like his coming here has somehow wiped the slate clean for both of us, past gone (except my family) and future ahead. A gift.  _

_ Look at me, getting all sentimental. Ygritte used to tease me about it, said I cry more than any girl she knew. But I’m just so glad. That he’s here, that he fell for me and gave me this new chance for happiness.  _

_ I won’t let anyone ruin this.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, it's so hot I'm barely alive. I wish I was in Yorkshire. 
> 
> What do you think of today's ch? 
> 
> Only 4 more chs to write (and 7 to post) - and again I find myself unsure as to what's next.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! 
> 
> Today we have: the morning after, Dadvos, and Theon finally opening up a little. Oh and Jon fucking it up again. 
> 
> Warnings for mentioning of sexual assault (not T or J)

“Wake up. Wake up, wake up, wake up.”

Theon groans, swatting at the source of the nagging voice in his ear. “Time’s it?” he mumbles.

“Just past five.” 

Something wet starts to drag over Theon’s nape, just above his shirt, while warm hands roam beneath it, up and down his back. 

“Are you nuts?” Theon writhes a little, warm pleasure starting to rise in his body. “Too early, man.”

“Too early for this?”

Something really hard is pushing insistently against his buttocks, hard enough he can feel it through his thick sweatpants. Which are dragged down all of a sudden, and then Jon’s hands knead his arse cheeks in a way that makes Theon squirm and his cock harden. 

“Oh, okay, fine.” Theon smiles into the pillow when Jon bites down lightly on his nape. “Go and get the oil and I’m all yours.”

“Not necessary.” 

Jon sounds smug, and Theon gasps in surprise when something cool and slick is squeezed onto his crack, quickly distributed by Jon’s smart fingers. Theon jolts when two of them breach him, slicking him up thoroughly. 

“What… oh… what do we have… fuck… this time?”

“Durex,” is the baffling answer. “I remembered some guests left a bottle about two years ago and for some reason I never threw it out… there’s no sell-by date and it seemed fine to me.”

“Sure, it’s not your arse on the line if it isn’t,” Theon grumbles, then whines when Jon pulls his fingers back. “Hey!”

“Turn around,” Jon commands. “And get rid of your clothes, I want to see you.”

Well, damn. 

“You have seen me,” Theon tries to stall as he turns onto his back awkwardly under Jon’s sceptical gaze. “When you dragged me out of the shower that one time. Or in the Morrisons changing cabins.”

“That was before we were doing this.” Jon shuffles backwards on his knees, tugging at Theon’s sweatpants until they come off. “And I didn’t really look then. Now get on with it, lose that damn shirt before I have to rip it off.”

Theon takes a deep breath. It’s bound to happen one day anyway, what with them living together and Jon turning into a sex-crazed beast before his eyes. Might as well get it over with. He sits up and pulls the shirt over his head, slumping back into the pillows with his arms crossed in front of his chest and his eyes squeezed shut. There’s a long silence before Jon clears his throat.

“Fuck. You’re…”

_ Fat _ , supplies Theon’s mind.

“Gorgeous,” says Jon. 

“What?” Theon squints at Jon hovering over him in suspicion. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Kidding? Theon, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Jon exhales, shuddering, letting his hands glide from Theon’s belly to his chest, fingers splaying out over his nipples. “You feel amazing. You  _ look _ amazing.”

“Fat, you mean,” Theon whispers, eyes stinging. Jon is sweet, pretending for his sake. “I know I am, you don’t have to–”

“Would you shut up?” Jon sounds angry, manhandling Theon’s thighs apart and settling between them. “Where do you have this nonsense from? You’re entirely normal. Loads better than when you came here. You looked like a walking skeleton. Now I can at least not see your ribs anymore.”

“Well, my fucking hips…”

“What, these?” Jon grabs at the soft flesh, digging his fingers into Theon’s sides. “You can’t be serious. Have you any idea how sexy this is? Holding you like this when I fucked you yesterday…” 

Jon shivers, and Theon’s gaze is drawn to his hardening dick. Jon is aroused. He’s looking at Theon with this hunger in his eyes, and he wants him, no matter the wobbly bits. Theon swallows, and spreads his legs as wide as they go. 

“Then do it again,” he says roughly. 

And it’s even better like this. With Jon’s body touching him everywhere as he’s sprawled out over Theon, face buried in his chest and lips and tongue working his nipples until they’re swollen and stinging, cock moving thick and hard in him. It’s better when Jon sits up and Theon’s legs wrap around him, when he holds tight onto Theon and rails him fast and good, huffing and grunting, lovely face reddened and with this absolute focus...

It’s better when he comes down from his orgasm in Jon’s arms, sweaty limbs tangled together and warm, sated kisses that don’t seem to end. 

“Gorgeous,” Jon mumbles into Theon’s hair. “Don’t you ever dare think anything else.” He sighs. “Who even told you that? When we were kids you always thought you were the shit. So where did these insecurities come from?”

Theon thinks about it. Maybe it would be okay to tell Jon some of what happened. Not all of it of course. Jon really doesn’t need to know about things like the month it took him to leave the house again without fearing to shit himself everytime he sneezed. Or how it came to that for the matter. Or how long it took him to sleep without the lights on and without waking up drenched in sweat every couple hours. 

“Ramsay,” he says as matter-of-factly as he can muster. “He used to tell me I was gross everytime I ate a bite so I kind of stopped eating altogether. After we… broke up… it took me some time to work up an appetite again and — well. You were right when you said meeting Gilly was my downfall. And I can’t help but look at my thighs and love handles and tits…”

“God, I’m sorry,” Jon says when Theon doesn’t continue. “That’s so fucked. What an absolute asshole. If I had known as much yesterday I’d have given him a piece of my mind. You’re gorgeous, end of the story.”

“Yesterday?” Theon tries to wiggle out of Jon’s hold to look at him in astonishment. “What was yesterday?”

“Don’t you worry about that,” Jon says, too quick. “I got rid of him fast enough.”

“What did he do?” Theon sits up, a horrible thought entering his mind. Jon viciously scrubbing at his neck… “Did he  _ touch _ you?”

“No - well, a little. Nothing I couldn’t deal with.” Jon huffs. “What an abusive asshole. Next time he comes in–"

“You,” Theon interrupts Jon. “You let him come close enough so he could  _ touch  _ you?”

“What was I supposed to do?” Jon sits up too, defiantly crossing his arms. “Give him the boot and lose my home and my livelihood? He didn’t do much, you don’t have to worry about it. I can take care of myself, okay?”

“He didn’t do much…” Theon repeats. He shivers in horror. “It starts so harmlessly, yes… And before you know it you’re on all fours and begging him to kill you before it gets any worse.”

“Theon…”

Jon is staring at him with wide eyes, he’s said too much but he can’t be bothered now. Feeling like he’s having a deja-vu, Theon dresses with Jon watching from the bed. When he’s done he walks over, bending down and giving Jon a hard, short kiss. 

“Where are you going?” Jon asks worriedly. “You don’t…”

“I’ll make it short. This needs to stop. Him coming in and harassing you… and you not telling me for whatever reason.”

“To protect you,” Jon says quietly. “Don’t go there, Theon. Don’t let him hurt you.” 

“I’m in love with you, you idiot.” Theon smiles, a little sad. “I’d do anything for you.”

“If that’s true you stay right here.” Jon gets up too, walking over and stubbornly unzipping Theon’s jacket again. “And you  _ promise me _ you won’t go to him ever again. We’ll think of something to get him to back off, okay? Just... Just stay.” He huffs. “Or I’ll go with you.”

“That’s blackmail,” Theon protests weakly as Jon undresses him again. “Shouldn’t we get up?” he asks when Jon pushes him back onto the bed and climbs onto his lap. “People will want breakf– mmph!!”

“Fuck breakfast,” Jon pants as he surfaces from kissing Theon. “I need you now. I need to fuck you until you can’t move anywhere, never mind that fucking castle.”

***

To everyone’s collective relief the pub remains pleasantly Ramsay-free for the next days. Theon notices, not for the first time, how much louder and merrier the room feels like without the lord of the castle present. In a short break he asks Jon if the same was the case when Roose visited, but Jon shakes his head. 

“He more or less ignored people and they ignored him. Didn’t come in often. Sometimes he sat with Davos or Mayor Stannis talking business. Or with me at the bar. He never seemed fazed by my demeanour.”

“I don’t think they like the new lord a lot.” 

Theon lets his gaze wander over the room until it gets caught by Davos who waves at him from the door. When Theon goes over Davos beckons him outside, closing the door firmly behind them. He looks grim and there’s a stain on his jacket that looks like–

“Are you okay?” Theon asks, alarmed. “Is that  _ blood? _ ”

“Not mine,” Davos growls. “Listen, lad. Have to leave for a wee bit. Just wanted ter tell ye. Whatever ye do, don’t go up to that fucking castle.”

“What happened?”

“Went ter look after my boars. New gamekeeper kens shite about boars. And then I heard the lad scream…”

Davos jerks his chin over to where Theon can make out his car in the light from the pub windows. He squints. It looks as if someone is sitting in it. 

“Who…”

“Satin. Found him on the ground with that monster kneeling above him and his dirty thing out and–”

Theon has stopped listening, he rushes over and opens the car door. Light floods out and the boy inside whimpers, turning his face away from Theon, but he’s already seen enough.

“Hey,” Theon says as calmly as possible. “Don’t be afraid, okay? I want you to come to the kitchen with me. We’ll get you some ice for your cheek and that blood off your face and then you tell me what happened.”

***

“He said Ramsay came out of nowhere, and that at first he thought it was, I quote,  _ just  _ one of those attacks like back where he’s from - Bromley, he said - but when he was down Ramsay pulled out his– and forced him to–”

Theon wipes the kitchen table with angry swipes to get the rest of Satin’s blood off that had dropped from his broken nose and the tear in his lip from having his mouth forced open. Jon watches silently, still wearing that horrified expression from when Theon had told him what had gone down. It’s after midnight, but there’s no thought of sleep. Theon stops and straightens with a curse. 

“I can’t believe he doesn’t want to press charges. How often will Ramsay get away with this shit? His brother, that one girl he told me about - thought he was just kidding back then but now I’m not so sure - and. Fuck.” 

“And you,” Jon says quietly. “Was that what he did to you? Force you?”

“Not like you think.” 

Theon bends down to grab the package of formerly frozen peas that has fallen under the table after Davos had taken Satin to an unknown destination. Not Bromley, Theon hopes. And Davos has to see he stays away too, after attacking Lord Bolton to get him off Satin. He once mentioned a friend down in Oxford with a houseboat. Maybe that’s where he’s going. 

“I don’t know what I think. I don’t know anything. You don’t  _ tell _ me anything.”

Theon huffs and lets the peas slump into the sink before turning to Jon. 

“What do you want to hear? That I was the poor victim of some madman? That he attacked me like he attacked Satin and there wasn’t anything I could do? It wasn’t like that. It was my own fault because I let him do horrible things to me, I let him hurt me. I stayed with him. Thought he loved me.”

Theon barks out a short laugh that has Jon start. 

“Is that what you want to hear, really? That I am a coward who let another man break him? Who didn’t leave even after it got so bad he couldn’t walk for days? Who let himself be treated worse than a dog, who…”

Theon sighs, running out of steam. 

“It was my own fault. Such a whore, couldn’t wait for his fucking dick to destroy me. And yay, he complied. Kaputt. That’s me. There, are you happy now that you know?”

He doesn’t get an answer, and when he looks up Theon sees why. Jon is crying, silent tears running down his cheeks, and automatically Theon takes a step towards him. Apparently that’s all the encouragement Jon needs. With one jump he’s there and wraps his arms around Theon’s neck, burying his face on Theon’s shoulder. 

“I want to kill him for this,” Jon grits out. “For doing this to you, for making you think like that. It wasn’t your fault, none of it! Please don’t believe that, please!”

Theon doesn’t say anything, he just holds on to Jon. This is going better than he thought. No outright disgust; Jon is still here, still touching him. And yet he can feel it, that raw yearning inside him, the need to prove that he’s still himself, that he’s still wanted, at least by someone. Only this time it isn’t just  _ someone  _ he craves - it’s Jon.

He pushes Jon back, just a tiny fraction, so he can take his mouth. And Jon reacts with that still surprising passion, hands coming to fist in Theon’s hair as he opens his mouth and melts into the kiss, tasting of salt and that warm something that’s uniquely Jon.  _ Yes,  _ Theon thinks, grinding himself against Jon and letting his hands slip under his jumper. This is what he needs now to chase away the demons. He’s not hard, not even close, but it’ll come when things progress. It sometimes does.

And then Jon stiffens, stops kissing him. Moves away, eyes wide and horrified, stumbling backwards. Theon’s blood freezes to ice as he sees what he’d hoped won’t be there in Jon’s eyes, what he feared would be. He tries to breathe normally, the sheer weight of pain threatening to crush his chest. Disgust. It’s plain as day. 

“I’m going to bed,” Theon mumbles, “I need to be alone.”

Jon doesn’t protest. O course he doesn’t.

***

_ I got it wrong again. I’m such an insensitive idiot, it’s unbelievable. There he was, after telling me all those horrible things, and all I could think of was, how can he even want that? How can he want sex after what he’s been through? He didn’t really explicitly tell me, but it was enough overall to put two and two together. He was forced. Fucking Bolton abused him, and not only mentally.  _

_ And I just thought; he can’t want sex. Not after going through hell like this. I don’t know how I looked but he stared at me like I had slapped him when I moved back, like I had refused him. He went to bed alone and it was only when he was gone that it hit me. He thinks I don’t want him anymore after learning of what has happened to him. He thinks  _ I’m _ the one turned off.  _

_ And maybe that’s the worst part. I’m not. Not in the slightest. It breaks my heart to see him like this, to know what was done to him. But I still want him. I just can’t fathom how  _ he  _ could. How can he bear getting… I mean, when he was hurt like that? If something like this had happened to me… I don’t know if I could bear the thought of it ever again. He looked so desperate.  _

_ God, I’m such an idiot. I thought it would be best to give him space. I thought that was the right thing to do. Thought I know what he needs, which is definitely not sex. But as Ygritte loved to say, you know nothing, Jon. You are a goddamn fucking fool. I’ll need to talk to him about this. But first I need to show him that I still want him. I’m not going to fuck him, not as a means to forget what happened. But maybe I can do something else.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy. Ooooooh boy. Any thoughts? 
> 
> Btw, Bromley I chose bc I met a lovely couple last year on the Isle of Man - who moved there from Bromley among other reasons bc attacks on gay guys started to increase in frequency there and they didn't feel safe anymore. -.-


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for Jon to make things right^^ 
> 
> And time for Jon to fuck up something else, but that is a good thing.

He can feel Jon’s eyes on him all throughout the next day. After a mostly sleepless night Theon is tired, his motions mechanical and slow. And all the time Jon watches him with an unreadable expression, during breakfast and at lunch, and when they get the guest rooms ready for the three people who arrive during dinner service. Jon watches Theon serve food and clean tables while giving them their keys and taking their payment, he watches Theon all through clean-up when they lock the pub – it’s unnerving, really. 

At the end of it Theon is exhausted. But it had been good to be busy, trying his hardest not to fling himself at any woman or man who looked his way, begging them to want him. Trying not to think of how Jon doesn’t want him anymore. He needs his bed, needs to sleep and forget. But Jon doesn’t even give him that tiny morsel of peace - when Theon goes into his room after a short, cold shower and a mumbled good night Jon follows.

“What do you want?” Theon asks, weary to his bones. “I don’t think there’s much left to say, is there?”

“There are a million things we need to talk about,” Jon says calmly, toeing off his shoes. “But not tonight.”

“What… Jon, we both know…” Theon swallows when Jon shakes out his still damp curls. “You don’t need to pretend. I knew you wouldn’t - I didn’t expect you to–”

“Yeah, sure.” Jon works his bathrobe belt open, raising an eyebrow. “I’m totally pretending to get hard just from looking at you. All day long I totally didn’t want to bend you over the bar, or fuck your big mouth when you smile at someone who isn’t me, or throw you onto the fucking guest bed and make you feel so good you forget your own name and all the fucked up things that happened to you…”

“Jon,” Theon whispers, transfixed by the sight of Jon’s cock springing free when he shimmies out of his towel. He’s so hard. But… “Then why? Why did you flinch away from me? Why not yesterday? Why now?”

“Not now either.” Jon smiles rather grimly when Theon frowns in confusion. “Lay down. And get your clothes off, you’re not hiding from me anymore.” 

“I have no idea what you think you’re doing,” Theon mutters, but his hands are already following Jon’s orders until he’s as naked as him, shivering in the cold air. He sinks down onto the bed, wrapping his arms around his chest. “If you think this getting ordered around is what I’m into after what you’ve heard–”

“I think nothing of the sort. But we’ll put that on the list of things to talk about.  _ Later _ .” Jon comes to kneel on the bed, hands heavy and hot as they glide up Theon’s legs. “I want to hear about _ all _ the things you’re into, you moron. But not now. I want you way too much to waste any more time with talking.”

And with that Jon bends forward and takes Theon’s half hard dick in his mouth. He isn’t gentle about it, sucks him in fast and rough. Heat shoots straight to Theon’s groin as he cries out, his dick hardening quickly in Jon’s warm, skilled mouth. He’s so good at it, enjoying it so blatantly, moaning and humming around the length, taking him deep and leaving him dripping and aching and wanting more when he pulls off with a gasp. 

Theon welcomes him when Jon comes up to kiss him, open-mouthed and greedy. He drowns in that kiss, tasting himself and Jon, savouring the feeling he’d thought he’d lost when he told him. Jon whimpers against him, low and desperate, and Theon’s eyes fly open as he feels the head of his dick engulfed by unbearably tight, slick heat. Jon breaks away with a gasp, bracing himself against Theon’s chest as he straightens - and sinks lower. 

They moan simultaneously, then Jon cries out as he rocks down until he’s fully seated. Theon stares at him, feeling something near panic as he tries to take it all in. Jon’s face is flushed hotly, beads of sweat forming at his brow; he bites his lip, fingers clawing into Theon’s chest, emitting short, breathy moans. He doesn’t move, but Theon can feel his arse clench and unclench around him and it takes all his strength to stay still too. 

“Big,” Jon pants, “god, you’re fucking big. Much bigger than… aaah!” He lifts his hips, crying out as he comes down again and Theon’s hands clench into the covers as he’s gripped even tighter, as Jon starts to move. “I feel so… god, Theon, I’m so full it’s… never did it like this… bigger… fuck!”

Jon falls forward, panting, but all of a sudden he straightens again, hands fumbling for purchase and gripping Theon’s arms as he levers himself up and down in a slow, slick glide that drives Theon to the edge of madness. 

“You,” Theon pants as he understands, “you let her fuck you. You let her pound your arse, you… god,  _ Jon _ !”

“Yes, let her…” Jon cries out, moving faster. “She loved it, being the one to… I loved it too, but this… you’re… different, bigger… god!”

“Bigger, yes.” Theon growls, filled with a strange kind of rage all of a sudden. He rips his arms from Jon’s grip, seizing his hips, and with one flip he turns them around, laughing when Jon cries out in shock as he slams back home, deep into Jon’s tight heat. “Bigger and fucking  _ better _ !”

Jon screams, arching off the bed as Theon angles his thrusts and hits the right spot. His hands erratically fumble for a hold and Theon takes them, linking their fingers and trapping them at the sides of Jon’s head. Jon’s eyes are closed, curls sticking to his forehead, mouth hanging open as Theon pounds into him as hard as he dares. 

“Open your eyes, Jon. Look at me, see who it is taking you so good!”

“Yes…” Jon obeys, lashes parting, his eyes hazy and pitch black. “Better, you’re better… so good,  _ Theon–”  _

Their eyes lock and Theon releases Jon’s hands, sitting back and gripping his legs instead, slowly bending them until Jon is open and bare before him, panting, waiting. 

“Touch yourself,” Theon hisses, another surge of heat rushing through him when Jon gasps at his words. “Touch yourself while I fuck every thought from your head that isn’t me, until all you can think of is my cock and what it can do to you!”

“Theon…” Jon looks feverish, gaze veiled and unfocused. His hand closes around his hard dick and he gasps, whines. “Do it,  _ please!  _ Fuck me, Theon, please fuck – god!!”

Theon surges forward, all the way in, and Jon nearly chokes on his screams when Theon sets a fast, hard pace. Jon’s hand is flying on his dick, frantic, the noises he makes bring Theon’s blood to boil, he can feel his orgasm coming closer, not yet, not before – Jon shudders violently, long ropes of come splashing onto his belly, arse gripping Theon so tight it nearly hurts and he shouts Jon’s name as he lets the waves crash over him and drag him under. 

“I want you,” he pants, slumping down and clinging to Jon in a desperate attempt not to drown. “You’re the first I really wanted since then. Want to fuck you, want you to fuck me, want to give you everything I thought was taken away. Love you, Jon. I love you.”

Jon doesn’t answer, only kisses Theon back as if he were the one drowning.

***

“It’s for you.” 

Jon holds out the receiver and Theon takes it, one hand covering the speaker.

“Who is it?” he whispers. 

“Some loud woman.” Jon shrugs. “Didn’t say her name but she said fuck five times in one sentence.”

Oh dear god.

“Hey, Ash,” Theon says into the phone. “How the fuck did you know where I am?”

“That pretty Stark boy gave me the number. Why is your fucking phone turned off?”

Pretty Stark boy? For a moment Theon looks over to where Jon is refilling the liquor shelf, confused why Jon would give Ash this number, when it dawns on him she means Robb. Who is objectively very pretty. 

“I’m out in the sticks, sis. No reception. And apart from that I’m actually busy, you know. I’ve got a job here.”

Jon snorts and Asha does the same down the line. 

“Job, eh? Let me guess, part of your job is done with your head between your boss’ thighs.”

“Well…” Theon starts, but then the line crackles and there’s a flood of spanish shouting. Theon looks at the phone in consternation before putting it back to his ear. “Ash? Where the fuck are you?”

“Sorry, some fucker got into my frequency… Chile at the moment. They found a new kind of sea urchin and since I’m the best...”

“And is there a reason you call me from fucking Chile or are you having an uncharacteristic attack of sisterly feelings?” 

“Just wanted to ask if you’re okay.” Asha’s voice sounds light, but Theon knows her well enough to know that something is coming. “You know, if you’re still doing well after all that horror and fucked-up shit…”

“What…” How random is that? Theon scowls. Asha’s in Chile. And randomly asking him about Ramsay? After he’s back in Theon’s life right this moment… “That was ten years ago. Why would I be upset about that now?”

“Oh, just thought I’d ask. You know, telepathic sibling bond… You’re good, yeah?”

“I’m good,” Theon states firmly. 

“Well, then. Was nice talking to you. Now go and get your mouth back to work and I’ll get back to mine. Those fucking idiots want to go down and can’t even set up the oxygen without me breathing down their necks. Bye!”

“Bye,” Theon says to the beeping phone. Asha’s already hung up. “What the…”

“Who was that?” Jon asks curiously, coming over to collect a kiss before wrapping his arms around Theon’s waist. 

“My suddenly clairvoyant sister.” Theon puts the receiver onto the station to properly concentrate on Jon. “Remember, she grew up with my maternal uncle while Ned dumped me in with your lot. We reconnected when I went back to Pyke for mum’s funeral. She’s a marine biologist and cruises around the world to save the common sea slug or something like that. She’s a pain in the ass but I owe her big time. She got me out of the… away from Ramsay.”

“Hmm.” Jon squints angrily at the mention of Ramsay before kissing Theon again. “I would like to meet her one day.”

“Be careful what you wish for. She’d be – oh shit.”

Theon feels Jon go rigid in his arms as the door flies open to reveal Lord Bolton in all his horror. Ramsay looks like a walking anachronism, black riding boots up to his knees, beige breeches and a dark green waistcoat over a frilly shirt. His hair is tied back and in his hand he’s holding a fucking riding crop. And there’s still that tiny part in Theon that thinks he looks good like this. But thankfully he doesn’t have much time to ponder this, for Jon shows a fierce inclination to get straight over the bar and into Ramsay’s face. 

“ _ You…” _ he growls, and Theon has to hold him in a death grip to prevent him from killing himself. 

“My, my.” Ramsay shakes his head. “This isn’t quite the welcome I was expecting from you, Jon. I hoped it’d be more like, I come in, you bend over, I’ll shove my cock into you until you beg for mercy… pity.” He shakes his head, an amused smile curling his lips when Jon just snarls, beyond words in his rage. “You could’ve had it all. The pub  _ and  _ the lord. Instead you’re stuck with that fat slut there…”

Ramsay comes closer and Theon has to draw on all his strength to hold on to Jon as Ramsay lets the crop glide over Jon’s cheek. “Pity,” he says again, and then his cold blue eyes meet Theon’s, a cracking sound and pain exploding in his face. Theon screams, letting go of Jon to press his hands against his face, squeezing his eyes shut in agony. Something crashes against the wall, glass breaking and Ramsay laughs before the door clicks shut. 

“Theon, let me see - get your hands off your face, dammit!”

Jon’s hands pull Theon’s away and a fresh wave of pain surges through him when he prods at him lightly. 

“Straight across the left side… Can you open your eye?”

Theon tries, it hurts and his vision is blurred but after a while Jon’s anguished face becomes clearer. He’s shaking with rage. 

“Thank fuck… the skin didn’t break but you’ll have a hell of a welt there for some time.” Jon sighs. “Why did you hold me back, you idiot?”

“To avoid you getting the beating of a lifetime. Ouch!” Theon hisses. “Can I get something cold? And a couple Ibuprofen?”

“Yeah, come on. I’ll close the place for the day. Tomorrow’s Monday. It’s not as if… This was it anyway.”

Jon’s voice is choked, and when Theon looks at him silent tears are running down his face. At first he doesn’t understand, but then it dawns on him. The pub… it really means a lot to Jon. And it’d be Theon’s fault if Ramsay takes it away from him.

***

_ That’s it then. Now I can only wait until I get the eviction notice. I swear I’ve never in my whole life been as angry as I was when he came in. I wanted to tear his throat out with my teeth. I wanted to sink my fingers into his face and gouge his eyes out. It baffles me, the thoughts that go through my mind when I get this angry.  _

_ Theon held me back, my brave Theon. Thank god. As much as I want to hurt that piece of shit Bolton, I don’t want to be like that. But fuck me, it would’ve been good to get my hands on him, do  _ something.  _ Make him pay for what he did to Theon, to that boy Satin, to anyone he’s ever touched. He’s a fucking monster.  _

_ When he raised that crop I thought it was for me, but he hit Theon. He screamed and I threw a bottle at Bolton, the 16 year old Lagavulin but I only noticed that later. Not that I care. I only wish I got him. He laughed like a fucking maniac when he left, but I had no time to go after him, not with Theon whimpering in pain behind me.  _

_ He was clutching at the left side of his face and for a horrible moment I thought Bolton had injured his eye. Thank fuck that’s not the case, but it was a harsh strike. His poor face will swell and he’ll be in pain for a while. I just wanted to get him to lie down, which he did. He’s sleeping now, after some painkillers. It’s only early afternoon but I closed the pub down for today, hung up a sign saying Sorry. I hope people are not too pissed, but I want to stay right here. Have to change the icepack on his face soon.  _

_ It hit me after I made sure Theon was relatively okay. This is it. I’ve fucked everything up. I’m going to lose my home. A part of me feels like I’m losing Ygritte all over again, as if I’m killing her a second time. We never lived here together, but it is  _ our  _ home in a way. I felt like she was with me all these years, until Theon came. And then it became a  _ real  _ home, for him and me.  _

_ Evenings in front of the fire, the cat in my lap, card games, cups of tea in the morning. So much warmth. His annoying whistle when he manages to get the shower first, finding swear words to fling at him, waiting for him to wake up just because the need to kiss him grows unbearable. The sex we had here… God, I never thought there could be anything as good as this.  _

_ Don’t get me wrong, what I had with Ygritte was amazing. But having him in me, flesh warm and alive, the soft skin and then his release… It was better, better than any fucking dildo could ever be. Feels like blasphemy, admitting to that, but it’s true. Everything is so different with him, so exciting and raw. And it’s here, in my home, our home. It hurts so much to know I’ll be losing all of this.  _

_ But then I can’t go on living here as it is. A part of me wants to get away, wants to take Theon and get him as far away as possible from that monster. I could never do what Bolton wants me to do, couldn’t whore myself out to someone so sick. I wonder how it would’ve been if Theon had never come here. I wouldn’t have known anything about Ramsay, would’ve only seen him as a nuisance to bear.  _

_ Would I have done it? Spread my legs to keep the pub, keep my home and my family? I doubt I would’ve given it much thought to be honest. Just another chore in my daily routine, not even really registering in the state I was in. I had nothing to lose then. Now I feel like vomiting even thinking of it. I’m awake now. I have someone to protect.  _

_ He looks as if he’ll be asleep for a while yet. I changed the ice pack just now and he didn’t even move. Maybe it’s time to take the next step. Get ready. And use the time we still have here in our first home. Together.   _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a delight to have Asha join us again!!
> 
> We're slowly nearing the end.  
> O.O


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Important things are said in this one.

“TGIM,” Jon declares as he hobbles over to remove Loki from the kitchen counter where he’s been eyeing the Nutella glass with interest. “Thank fuck for Mondays. I swear I’ve never been so sore in my life.”

“That, dear boy, is your own doing.” Theon sips his tea, unmoved by Jon’s pitiful groans. “I didn’t tell you to wake me up by swallowing my cock.” Another sip, to hide a grin. “With your arse.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Jon sounds embarrassed. “I was horny. And you didn’t exactly protest.”

“Well, no. It would’ve been rude to refuse such an offering. Besides, when I came to my senses I was already balls deep. But I’ll have you reminded that I _did_ protest when you assaulted me here just now.”

“Yeah, but it also didn’t take much to persuade you, did it.”

Jon comes back, dropping the cat to the carpet before very carefully arranging himself across Theon’s lap, naked arse high up. It’d take a stronger man than Theon to resist such temptation, so he lets his hand fall on the round globes, kneading suggestively. Jon yelps, then groans, and Theon can’t believe it when he feels him growing hard against his legs.

“You’ve got to be kidding me! What are you, sixteen? You shouldn’t be able to do this!”

“I have years to catch up on.” Jon moans softly, grinding against Theon’s thigh. “When Ygritte and I started–” He stills, tilting his head and peering up at Theon with a sheepish look. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be stupid. She was a big part of your life and always will be.” Theon pinches Jon’s buttcheek and is rewarded with a surprised squawk. “It’s not as if you can’t ever talk of her. Just… maybe not when we have sex.”

“It made you fuck me like a freight train though.” Jon grins smugly. “But if it makes you feel better, I can hardly remember my own name when you’re in me, never mind Ygritte’s. Are we going to have sex now? Just so I know to stop mentioning her.”

“Good grief.” Theon lets one finger slip between Jon’s buttcheeks, making him writhe “You just complained that you’re sooo sore. Do you want me to fuck you to a permanent limp? And I’m not a porn star, at least give me an hour or so.”

“Pathetic,” Jon grouses, then cries out when Theon meanly slides two fingers into him without warning. “Ow, I mean, aaah!”

“Cheeky brat,” Theon mumbles, crooking his fingers until he finds the right spot and Jon’s fake moans turn into real ones. “Is that enough to stop your whinging?”

“Not… oh… not quite… fuck!” Jon shivers from head to toe as Theon starts to fingerfuck him faster. “Not that this isn’t amazing but… yes… your cock is something else.”

“I like yours well enough too,” Theon informs Jon while massaging his insides with now three fingers, revelling in the noises Jon makes. “I mean, not that I’m complaining…”

Jon keens, thrusting back against Theon’s hand with a bitten-off curse, and a moment later Theon feels him pumping against his thigh, probably ruining the couch. His dick twitches, just in time for the show to be over.

After a few long moments Jon sighs, his body relaxing.

“We still need to talk.”

“Do we really?” Theon pulls a face when Jon peels himself off of him. “Shit happened, I’m over it. That not enough?”

“No. It’s not enough, and you’re clearly not over it.” Jon, bow-legged, stalks out of the room, returning a couple minutes later with a box of wet wipes and offering it to Theon. “I have some questions. I won’t force you to tell me, but...”

“Alright,” Theon sighs, wiping at his thigh, then half-heartedly at the stained couch. “Can I at least go and get the _Grouse_?”

***

“I can’t fucking do this.”

Theon lays his head in his hands, elbows propped on his knees. Jon is half-sitting, half-crouching on the rug opposite the couch. The bottle of whisky is in front of Theon on the floor. Not that it has helped so far.

“Why?” Jon asks, shifting uncomfortably.

“Feels like I’m back at the bloody therapist Ash sicced on me after I got away.” Theon grabs the bottle, taking a hearty swig. “Always looked at me like you do now and I really don’t want to see you as my fucking therapist.”

“Sorry. Didn’t think of that.”

Jon gets up and comes over to the couch. Theon starts.

“What are you doing?”

“Scoot,” Jon says, waving his hand until Theon complies. He sits down gingerly, hissing, and leans back against the armrest. “Now come here.”

“Don’t know if this is such a good idea,” Theon mutters, but shuffles into position until he’s leaning back into Jon. And he has to confess, it does feel rather comforting when Jon wraps both arms around him, secure and warm. Theon relaxes a fraction, closing his eyes. “Okay, you were right, this is better. Shoot. Ask your questions.”

There’s a long pause before Jon does, his breath warm on Theon’s nape. “Why did you think I wouldn’t want you anymore?”

Oh good, Jon is starting with the tough ones. Theon inhales carefully. How much can he really disclose? When will it be too much information? As if Jon is reading his mind, there’s a soft huff behind him.

“No need to coddle me, Theon. I asked.”

“I thought you think it was gross.” Theon’s chest tightens, he swallows. “Knowing that I’m not - already so used and - I thought you’d be disgusted. Knowing why it’s so easy to get me ready.”

“I noticed,” Jon quietly murmurs, and Theon bites the inside of his cheek as his chest tightens painfully. Jon’s hand starts stroking his arm gently. “To be honest, I just thought it was because you’re more experienced. For all I know you could’ve been with hundreds of men before. And I don’t care if you have.”

“Not hundreds.” Theon scoffs. “But a lot. A whole fucking lot of dicks as soon as I was recovered enough to take them.”

“Why?”

“That’s hard to explain.” Theon shudders when Jon bends his head, resting his chin on Theon’s shoulder. “Ramsay - he had a way of making me feel wanted while simultaneously telling me over and over how fucking ugly I was, how gross. Nobody would ever want me again, he said. Guess I needed to prove him wrong. Feel desirable.”

“You thought it would help.”

“Oh, it did.” Theon grins to himself, a twisted, bitter thing. “For an hour or a night… Always asked them to take me as hard as possible, hard enough I could feel it for days.”

“Didn’t that hurt you?”Jon’s voice is barely a whisper, choked.

“Not really.” Theon half-shrugs with the shoulder not occupied by Jon. “After what had gone down in that region even the biggest of them felt like not much.”

“But now…”

“Yeah, it’s much better now. You know, the human body’s amazing. I’ll always be somewhat… somewhat easy to fuck, if you will. But it’s nowhere near as bad as it was.”

“I loved how you felt around me.” Jon’s lips graze Theon’s ear as they move. “I feel horrible saying that now, in this situation, but–”

“It’s good,” Theon interjects. “It’s good to hear that from you, now. I need to hear these things.” He hesitates. “How did it feel?”

“Warm,” Jon breathes, “warm and slick and fantastic.”

“Good,” Theon repeats. “Can I ask a question now?” He feels Jon nod and braces himself. “Why did you reject me after I told you? Why haven’t you fucked me since then?”

“That’s two questions,” Jon says with a smile in his voice. “The first - I guess I projected. If something like this happened to me, I don’t think I’d ever be able to even look at another cock again. It didn’t occur to me that you could really want it.”

“I never wanted any of them. Only wanted them to want _me_. I wasn’t even hard with half of those guys.” Theon sighs. “I wanted _you_. Want you. This is the first time I’ve felt like that in years. I didn’t fake it when you fucked me. I loved every second of it.”

“Was it in any way like with… with the others? Sorry, but I have to ask.”

For a moment Theon considers lying. But for what? He’s never been so open, so laid bare, stripped naked like he is before Jon. No more lies.

“Maybe in the way my whole body came alive when you went fast and hard. That’s the only kind I know, rough or painful, so it’s difficult not to… it’s hard to separate everything. But I didn’t think of any of that. Just you.” Theon smiles. “Because I love you.”

“Theon…”

“It’s okay,” Theon assures Jon. “I get it. I’ll wait. I’m prepared to wait for a fucking long time. Hey,” he nudges at Jon’s head with his, “you still haven’t answered my second question.”

“I wanted to.” Jon’s arms tighten around Theon’s waist, he noses at his cheek. “I was appalled with myself for wanting to after you’d told me you had been...” Jon takes a wobbly breath. “I want you all the time, and I wanted you that night. When I realized… I didn’t want to fuck you as a means to distract you. Or as a coping method. I have to know you really want me before I…”

“I do,” Theon rushes to say. “How can I make you believe me? I want you so much, in any way possible. I swear by my cat’s life.”

“Oh god.” Jon chuckles, and then Theon shivers when Jon’s mouth grazes his cheek, his jaw. “I guess I have to trust your word.”

Theon twists in Jon’s arms until he can turn enough to meet Jon’s lips. They kiss slowly, languid and gentle, and Theon shudders when Jon moans softly into his mouth.

“Take me to bed,” he whispers.

***

“I said bed,” Theon says, frowning in confusion when Jon takes his hand and leads them to the outside door. “That’s the way to the attic.”

“I know,” Jon answers, smiling. “Just shut up and you’ll see.”

Curious, Theon lets Jon tow him outside and upstairs, then into the dark room.

“Wait here,” Jon commands, then shuffles away, bumping against something and cursing. “Ready?” his voice asks from the darkness and then a light goes on and Theon blinks - and can’t believe his eyes.

No more Peter Rabbit wallpapers. The crib is gone, as are all the kid’s toys and stuffed animals. In their stead is a double bed - Jon’s bed, Theon realizes with a jolt. And there’s Jon, smiling at him shyly.

“What… I don’t think I… what?” Theon stammers, goes quiet.

“I thought it was time for a change.” Jon comes back to him, hands fumbling with Theon’s jumper until he gets the hint and lifts his arms so Jon can pull it off. “You were always so cold down there and sleeping with three hundred layers and I thought… I thought if we move up here you’d be warmer. You could stay naked.”

“But… Lyanna?”

“Is gone. And she won’t come back. She won’t ever need this room.” Jon’s smile falters, turns sad. “I love my baby girl, with all my heart. I’ll never forget her. But… the living are more important than the dead.”

“Jon…”

Theon feels as if his heart will take off in his chest. He bends to catch Jon’s mouth, kissing him with all he’s capable of. They undress each other, interrupted by more kisses, until they sink down onto the bed. There’s nothing frantic this time, no rush, just skin on skin in the warmth of the room. It’s almost too warm, sweat breaking out over Theon’s skin wherever Jon touches him, wherever his lips press against him.

It’s like nothing he’s ever experienced before, the tenderness of it, the way Jon’s lips and hands linger, the way no part of Theon’s body goes untouched, unkissed. And he gives back what he can, clings to Jon, wrapped up completely in the feeling of him, closer than he thought possible. When Jon glides into him Theon gasps, echoing Jon’s low moans, is left breathless from the intensity of it.

It’s so gentle, so slow, the most intimate sensation Theon has ever felt. The pleasure isn’t racing through his body, instead it rises and falls, rises again until it consumes him whole. His breath quickens when Jon reaches between them, fingers wrapping around Theon’s cock and stroking languidly. It seems to last a lifetime, an entire lifetime of the most incredible feelings, of Jon’s brown eyes locked on Theon’s, of Jon’s mouth swallowing every sound he makes, until the pleasure heightens and he feels his orgasm pulled from him with a cry.

It’s only then that Jon quickens his thrusts, that he goes faster, beads of sweat on his brow as his hips jerk into Theon, deep and deeper until he too cries out. Theon feels Jon’s dick pulsing inside him and it sends another rush of pleasure through his veins. They stay entwined, waiting for their heartbeats to quiet down. Theon’s mind is still reeling. Jon might not say it, might never be ready. But he’s showing him, clearer than words ever could.

Jon raises his head, hand sneaking across Theon’s chest and coming to lie above his heart as he kisses him once more.

~

When Theon wakes up it is still pitch black, except for a faint shine coming from the window. It falls on Jon’s dark silhouette, unmoving and quiet, looking out into the night.

“What are you doing?” Theon asks. For a moment he thinks Jon hasn’t heard him, but then he shifts.

“Come here,” he says. “I want to show you something.”

Theon complies, slipping out of bed. He marvels at the warmth of the room, not feeling a hint of cold as he taps over, naked, and stands beside Jon. From this close he can make out his features, the calm on them. Jon is still looking outside, and when Theon follows his gaze and sees what it is Jon is looking at his breath catches in his chest.

A pink moon.

Jon turns his head, his hand finding Theon’s.

Once in a pink moon.

“I love you,” Jon says.

***

_Good morning, Jon! It’s a new day! ---_

_Yeah, still feels stupid._

_I feel so happy. Despite… but later. First. Happy. I’m so happy I fear I’ll float away if I don’t grasp the sheet. He’s lying next to me, still sleeping, and his face is so relaxed, so handsome, even with that mean welt. I am a little scared, to feel like this is… not something I’m used to._

_He was so brave, my Theon, when he told me what I wanted to know. Needed to know. It’s horrible, and I think he’s still downplaying it for my sake. But I won’t torment him any further. I have all the information I need to be what he needs. To give him everything._

_Last night I gave him everything. I loved him, choking on the words I wanted to say. I wanted to tell him so bad. But I decided to concentrate on giving him something else first, something he told me he’s never had before. Making love. Slow and sweet. And to be honest it was just what I needed, too._

_When I woke up later I went to the window for some air - it’s Theon-warm up here, not Jon-warm - and then I saw it. The pink moon. I remembered the conversation with Theon when I told him that me falling in love happens once in a pink moon. It seemed like a sign. No idea how long I stood there, staring at it, hearing Nick’s voice like silk ribbons in my head. Pink moon is on its way…_

_I was just about to go back to bed when he woke up and came to me. And I knew this was the right moment. I have never felt so certain about something. I love you, I told him. And I really do. So much. He’s the one thing that makes me strong enough to face this:_

  
  
  


**Mr. Jon Stark**

**The Bolton Arms**

**High Street**

**YO33 4YT**

 

**Dear Mr. Stark,**

**on behalf of our client, Lord Ramsay Bolton, we regret to inform you that your lease for object 421 (The Bolton Arms Public House) will be terminated by the end of the ongoing month. You have until the 31st of November to vacate the premises.**

**Sincerely,**

**Locke & Partner, attorneys**

  
  
  


_Two weeks left. It’s so horrible… and yet, I look at him and feel happy. He’s my home now._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah so it happened. Whatever are they going to do? 
> 
> It's bloody hot here and my head is unable to concentrate - next ch may be a little late :(
> 
> Hope you liked this one!


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shame! Shame! Shame!
> 
> Anyone got a bell they can ring while I take a virtual walk of atonement? Please don't spit or throw food on your devices XD
> 
> I'm terribly sorry for the delay! I don't know about where in the world you are but Vienna shouldn't have 40 degrees in June. Almost nothing here is air-conditioned and houses are built to STORE warmth. We all dead. Well I know my brain is. 
> 
> BUT right now we have lovely 28 and so here I present the next chapter :)

“You get up.”

“Fuck off, you do it.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, but you go tomorrow.”

Theon smiles to himself when Jon clambers out of bed, putting on a pair of pants before disappearing outside, muttering curses under his breath. He’s back in a few minutes, shivering and grumbling as he slithers back into bed. He presses his icy feet against Theon’s legs and cackles triumphantly when Theon yelps and tries to scoot away.

“Serves you right,” Jon says, wrapping himself around Theon like some kind of chilly tree snake. “What shall we do until the shower is ready?”

“I bet I can think of something,” Theon tells him, pretending to think hard. “Warm you up a little, hm?”

“Ooh yes, please.”

So that’s what Theon does, rather thoroughly. But despite applying his best efforts Jon still hasn’t had enough and insists on being fucked again in the shower. It’s amazing, how often he wants it. As if he’s really trying to catch up on all those years without any contact, be it sex or kisses or just hugs. Not that Theon is complaining, he loves it when Jon randomly hugs him throughout the day. And since Ramsay’s last performance this has gotten a lot more frequent.

There are also moments where Jon looks entirely lost and sad, but when Theon asks him what’s wrong he quickly puts on a smile and says it’s fine. And then he says the words again, the words Theon didn’t think he’d ever want to hear from anyone. It’s been two days since Jon has said it the first time and it seems that once that particular door is open there’s no stopping the flood. Jon is affectionate, cuddly, cracking jokes… He’d appear to be perfectly comfortable and happy if it weren’t for those sad moments.

“Could you go and get some new bottles?” Jon asks, turning his head away from the guest book to look at Theon. “We’re nearly out of some things and I have phone calls to make.”

“Sure,” Theon says, getting up and turning to go when he hears a reproachful cough. Grinning, he turns back. “Yes?”

“Are you maybe forgetting something?” Jon pouts. “Well?”

“Oh, terribly sorry. Forgot I’m marching off to war instead of going to the storage room.”

“Wanker,” Jon murmurs before drawing Theon in over the bar, and, “Love you,” and Theon’s heart melts again.

“You, too,” he says before kissing Jon again. It’s hard to stop once they start, but Gilly’s in the kitchen and it would be incredibly rude to fuck where she can hear it.

Theon isn’t even out of the door when he realizes he has no idea which spirits they’re out of, and so he turns back, a quip on his lips about how Jon’s instructions aren’t the best, but then he stops. Jon isn’t there anymore, as if he’s been magicked away. Theon walks over to the bar, meaning to look over the counter if Jon is hiding behind it to play a prank on him when he hears his voice coming from the kitchen.

“...sorry I’m only telling you today,” Jon says. “I learned it two days ago myself and to be honest I had no idea how to break the news to you.”

“It’s okay,” Gilly answers. “Sam showed me the ad yesterday. Honestly, not that much of a surprise, is it?”

“Ad?” Jon asks, sounding puzzled. “What ad?”

“Oh I thought you knew. The pub’s for sale. Ramsay is selling it.”

Selling it? A cold shiver runs down Theon’s back when he understands what this means. Ramsay is throwing Jon out. And what did Jon say? He’s known for two days already? And hasn’t told Theon. And that’s the reason for his sadness, it has to be. What the fuck… why would Jon keep it a secret?

“Nah, I didn’t know. Simply got a letter from Bolton’s attorney saying I have to leave until the end of November.”

That’s not even two weeks. Ten days, to be exact. Ten days and all of this will be gone, sold off to someone else.

“What does Theon say?” Gilly asks and Theon pricks up his ears.

“I haven’t told him yet.”

“Why?”

Yes, why, Theon thinks, silently thanking Gilly for asking the important questions.

“I’m not sure,” Jon says after a moment of silence. “Maybe I’m afraid he’ll do something stupid. Like going to the castle and trying to reason with that evil shit.”

“If you let Theon go there you’ll have to answer to me,” Gilly says, sounding so grim Theon can hardly repress a chuckle. It’s lovely to know she cares for him. “He can’t ever be alone with that monster.”

“I know. I swear I won’t let him.”

“Good,” Gilly states.

Theon thinks about it. Would it make any sense to go and see Ramsay? Is there any chance he could make him cancel the ad and let them stay, let Jon keep the pub? Theon shakes his head. Never. Not without some really fucked deal that would probably involve Jon being on offer. And that isn’t happening.

“What are you going to do?” Gilly asks. “Do you have anywhere to go? I mean, you could always stay with us until you find something new.”

“Thank you,” Jon says, sounding choked. “I thought maybe we could go visit my family. I haven’t seen any of them since I moved here, only Robb that one time but that’s it. Theon had a room in Robb’s flat. Maybe we could stay there until we figure out what to do.”

Theon swallows. Going home, back to Winterfell, back to the Starks, with Jon as his boyfriend. They’ll be over the moon - especially Arya - to see Jon again. The thought makes him smile. Her shovel talk will beat Robb’s by miles. It does sound good, spending some time with the whole clan again before… well, before what? Get themselves jobs, Theon reckons. Maybe he can find work as a waiter; he’s been getting quite good at it. Jon could search for a barkeeping job, and once they have enough saved for a deposit they can get their own place.

Theon starts to smile. It doesn’t sound very exciting, the daily grind and all that. But they’d do it together. Maybe they will even be able to coordinate their work shifts to get as much time together as possible. And Robb will be there, they can do stuff like when they were teenagers. And on Sundays they’ll go to the Starks’ house and see Cat for lunch. Her roast nearly beats Gilly’s. Jon would have his family back, people who care about him. Arya will hog him for weeks. Theon could take up archery again. Another thought, bittersweet. Ygritte and Lyanna are buried there. Maybe that’d do Jon some good too, give him a place to be with them.

Yes, Theon thinks. It’ll be good. They’ll be fine.

“And buying the place yourself?” Gilly says into Theon’s musings. “Would that be an option?” She sounds sad. “We’ll miss you two.”

“No, impossible,” Jon answers. “First, I do have some savings but not nearly enough. And second, I don’t want–”

The phone ringing in his back has Theon jump and he quickly scrambles backwards, away from the kitchen door, all the way to the main door before walking forward again to pretend he’s coming from outside.

“Theon?” Jon calls from the kitchen.

“Yeah, I got it,” Theon replies before picking up the receiver. “Bolton Arms, Theon speaking!”

“Hello? Theon, is that you?”

“What… Uncle Aeron?” Theon frowns in confusion. He hasn’t talked to his uncle since leaving Pyke the last time, when fleeing from Ramsay. “Why the fuck are you calling me here?”

“Language,” Aeron says. “Especially considering the circumstances of my call.”

“And what,” Theon sighs, “are those?”

Jon is coming in from the kitchen, eyebrows raised questioningly. Theon just shrugs, rolling his eyes and mouthing, “my uncle,” at Jon.

“Your father has passed away this morning,” comes Aeron’s dispassionate voice through the speaker. “And named you his sole heir.”

***

_Woah. I don’t think I had a single uneventful day since Theon showed up here. From devilish cats to evil ex-boyfriends/psychopaths to his father dying - it certainly doesn’t get boring. My poor boy, he tried to act all indifferent and aloof but I could see that there’s a lot going on underneath all that shrugging and smirking. Took him into the kitchen where Gilly the angel had cake. At first Theon refused to eat it, muttering about tits etc., but after I threatened to spoon feed him he relented and soon he had polished off the whole thing. Thank fuck. I like his tits._

_He’s out for a walk right now, allegedly to walk off the cake. But I guess he just needs to be alone for a while. Stomach the news. I know he and his dad didn’t have the best relationship. Theon said he always was a disappointment to him and couldn’t do anything right. He definitely doesn’t like to talk about it. I do remember what Ned told us when Theon came to live with us. Robb and I were about seven or eight, I think. But I have never forgotten Ned’s words._

_He told us that Theon’s father was involved in some really bad drug business and had trouble with the mob or something, and Ned was horrified when he saw a ten-year-old boy living in that environment. Theon’s mum wasn’t there (she lost her mind when her older sons were killed) and a bunch of crazy uncles and a father who beat the shit out of the kid when he even so much as breathed wrong. And so Ned made an agreement with Balon Greyjoy. He gets the kid out of there and Balon gets protection. And so Theon came to live with us._

_I remember how Robb and I solemnly promised to treat him like a brother. And while Robb succeeded I went from feeling sorry for Theon to despising him rather quickly. Didn’t take him long to focus on me as the only other outsider in that tightly-knit Stark family. One of them and yet still on the sideline somehow. I made an easy target, always pouting and brooding in my corner when he made his jokes. Should’ve given back as good as I got, I think. Maybe that would’ve gained me his respect._

_Or maybe I’m just looking back through rose-tinted glasses. It’s crazy, how much I love someone who I used to hate. Of course he’s changed. But there are still moments where I want to wrap my hands around his neck and throttle him because he annoys me so much. What has changed is that now I want to kiss him as desperately as I want to kill him. Or stuff his big mouth with my cock until he chokes on it. Maybe I have changed. Even as a teenager when I met Ygritte I wasn’t that horny._

_Don’t get me wrong, I was horny enough but maybe I still had those feelings of right and wrong then. Not that it would have mattered, Ygritte didn’t give a fuck and just took what she wanted and I was all too happy to oblige. But how it is now… I could fuck him 24 hours if it wasn’t for recuperating time. Or have him fuck me until I can’t walk. I actually have the hardest time when we’re both working and all I want is to slam him against the bar and suck his dick but I can’t because there are guests. Stupid guests._

_I do my best to fight those urges and up until now I’ve succeeded. Takes lots of kisses though to get me through the day. I wish I could touch him all the time. That was always my thing. Drove Ygritte up the wall when I went overboard with it, but she always indulged me in the end. Theon does too, he doesn’t seem to mind when I come up to him for a quick cuddle. The guests definitely don’t, some make awww faces and those strange Frey girls nearly start salivating whenever they see us together. Gilly says they’re the daftest girls ever because their father - or was it grandfather? - is a ridiculous old fart._

_Speaking of Gilly, what a woman. Seriously, I’m actually mad at myself for missing out on getting to know her and being her friend all these years. She’s amazing, clever, resourceful, warm and friendly and she **sees** people. Like, sees their heart. Immediately opened her arms and welcomed Theon here when I was still nothing but a block of black ice. She really cares about him. Gave me some kind of talk to never hurt him. Today she told me to not let him go to the castle ever or else. And I believe her. She’s not someone I want to cross._

_As if I would. Let him go there. From what Theon says Ramsay is after me now but that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t take the chance to destroy Theon again. That’s why I haven’t told him yet. I really hope I’m wrong but I know my stupid boy. He’d march up there and get himself in danger if he thought there was any chance we could keep the pub. I know I have to tell him soon. Ask what he thinks about my plan to spend December in Winterfell. I hope he’s okay with it._

_The idea is growing on me the more I think about it. It’ll be our first Christmas together, and the first I want to celebrate since my family died. I really lucked out here. Nobody ever complained about the pub not being festive or have special christmassy stuff on the menu. Christmas back home… Arya and Sansa bickering, Bran disappearing behind the first book he unwraps, Rickon pillaging the sweets on the tree, and Robb and Theon and I completely drunk on eggnog. But that’s stupid. They’re all grown up. We’re not kids anymore, none of us. I miss them._

_I wonder if it will be strange, going back with Theon and me being together. They all know of course, and Robb seemed to be pretty much okay with it. We’ll see if he’s still okay with it when we’re going at it like rabbits in his flat. Oh god I don’t even want to know what Arya will do to Theon… I mean, she’s an adult as well now. Maybe she’s learned to control her temper. Or maybe her boyfriend can keep her in check. I’m dying to meet the man who is brave enough to take up with Arya._

_Actually, I’m nervous. Will they forgive me? I gave them so much trouble and sorrow over the last decade. Is it even reasonable to think they’ll welcome me with open arms? I’m very much prepared to make amends, grovel until they accept my apologies. Theon can back me up. He’s naturally charming, if he wants to be. And of one thing I am a hundred percent sure: they want me to be happy. And he makes me happy._

_I wonder why he’s taking so long. I want him to come back and then I want to feed him and then console-fuck his brains out. I still have so much to do, maybe I’ll start on that until he comes back. I already called the guests that have booked rooms in December and told them I’m sorry I have to cancel their bookings. They were remarkably understanding. Hope they all find new places to stay at. But I still have to pack my stuff and see that there are no unpaid bills left. That should keep me busy until Theon is home._

_~_

_It’s nearly 2am. Where the fuck is he?!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm... sorry? 
> 
> Thanks to everyone who's still with me and the boys in this story! Up next: Theon is dumb, Jon is angsty and angry and Ramsay is Ramsay-esque.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! It's been... a long time. I apologize. At first it was the heat and being unable to concentrate, then I was going to London Film and Comic Con to meet Alfie and Gemma which made it hard enough to concentrate on BREATHING at times (they are absolute darlings btw) and then... nothing. Blocked. Like, seriously blocked. I tried to do some short ficlets to get over it - not even one line was possible. 
> 
> But it started to lift a couple weeks ago and I'm slowly getting into writing again. So here is the next ch! I intend to have the next one ready soon! The last one is already done and waiting.

He kicks at a little stone that’s carelessly sitting in his path. Sucks to be you, Theon thinks as he watches it shooting down the road, not sure if he means the stone or himself. It just sucks. He targets another stone, a bigger one this time, could almost be called a rock. It flies a longer distance than the little one and Theon smiles grimly when it hits the ground. That’s what you get for being in the way. You get kicked. Kicked down, kicked out. 

Not that he had been kicked out, not really. More like, given up on. And that without a fight. Ned had never told Theon what Balon had said when faced with the proposition to give up his only living son. No, good old daddy had told Theon himself, once upon a drunken night after his wife’s funeral. Glad he took you off my hands, Balon had said. Glad to be rid of your whining and shivering and total uselessness. Or something of the like, Theon isn’t sure anymore. Too many insults.

The only thing he remembers crystal clear is how much it had ached, hearing those things from his own father. And he remembers Ramsay. Who had been there, consoling and gentle, his sweet words soothing the slashes from Balon’s. It had felt so good. To be wanted. All fake. Theon chuckles loudly, cringing at the harsh sound in the quiet, cold air surrounding him. He knows how it is to be _really_ wanted now. 

And now the old man is gone. Gone and dead and without a chance to insult Theon a last time. Well, no, that’s not really true. The will is the last insult. Classic move, really, leaving Pyke and all that comes with it to Theon. All those happy, _happy_ childhood memories, like the time Theon had been locked away for two whole days without food for a crime he doesn’t remember. Did he even know it back then? Maybe it was something really awful, like getting a C on a maths exam. Or maybe it had been a punishment for the cardinal sin: liking something Balon considered girlish. 

Oh, the look on his father’s face when he found out what exactly Theon and Ramsay were up to… Theon smirks grimly. That had been a good day, despite the pain he’d been in. It had happened shortly after the first time Ramsay had hurt him. It had been the second or third time, Theon isn’t sure. He’d still been sore, torn and aching, but that hadn’t mattered to Ramsay. And that’s how Balon had found them, Theon on all fours and whimpering in pain, and Ramsay behind him going to town on his arse. 

And despite everything… Not that Father hadn’t known, they weren’t exactly subtle in their fooling around all over the castle. But to see his son on his knees, bent over like a submissive bitch and actually taking it up the arse – something had died in Balon in that moment, the shock on his face so sweet and satisfying Theon had forgotten pain and humiliation for a glorious second. Ramsay had laughed. _Shown him, haven’t we,_ he’d said afterwards when he’d cradled Theon in his arms, fingers gently stroking the bitemark he’d left on Theon’s neck. _We’ve shown him who you belong to now._  

Theon shakes his head. It’s still hard to believe in a way. That everything had been faked. He could’ve sworn there was real emotion in Ramsay’s words. Real fondness. Maybe… He wraps his jacket tighter around himself. Maybe there had been. Maybe Ramsay’s lying about lying. Can he really be that good of an actor? Theon is a skilled liar himself. Or at least he’s not opposed to arranging the truth to his advantage. Not that he’d do that, not anymore. He’d never lie to Jon. 

But sometimes it’s necessary to withhold some details. Like the exorbitant sum of money Pyke will get if Theon sells it. _When_ he sells it. He still has to talk to Ash about it. Not that she’d need it, but she’s Balon’s child too. And whatever Father’s will says, Theon is determined to give her her share. And after that, there will still be enough left. Theon looks up as the path turns into a courtyard, at the stone archway to Castle Bolton. Enough to buy a pub in any case. 

Feeling a little guilty for going behind Jon’s back, Theon sneaks around the side of the building. At a large window he stops, peeking inside. Seems like an old scullery or something of the sort. The window glass is dirty and smeared, and Theon presses closer to get a better look. Maybe he can go through the kitchen and surp–

“Not the polite thing to do, spying through the windows.”

The voice in his back startles Theon so bad he hits his forehead on the glass. Ramsay behind him snickers as Theon turns around, rubbing his head. 

“Are you haunting my window? You take those Wuthering Height jokes way too serious.”

Theon looks him up and down. Ramsay is dressed like the villain of a Georgette-Heyer-novel again, riding boots, breeches and frilly shirt. It’s cold but he doesn’t seem to feel it. He wears his hair open, long black strands grazing his shoulders. He looks tired, his face not pulled into a gleeful smile or triumphant grin for once, nor does he look hard or dangerous. Just tired. 

“I’m glad to see it didn’t scar.” Ramsay says and reaches out to touch Theon’s left cheek. When Theon flinches back he laughs humorlessly. “Can’t say I blame you. I really behaved atrociously that day. Apologies.”

“Are you sick or something?” Theon asks, eyebrows raised. He’s proud of the firmness of his voice. 

“Sick?” Ramsay laughs softly, a sound Theon hasn’t heard in a long while. “Yes, I guess you could say I’m sick. Sick of all this shit, sick of waltzing around like the biggest asshole on the planet. I’m sick of hurting people.” He sighs, his hand twitching as if he wants to reach out again. “Hurting you.”

“Since when?” Theon asks, suspiciously moving a step to the side so he isn’t backed against the wall. This has to be a new game, a new trick. A new way to humiliate Theon. “I’m your Isabella, remember? Nothing but a pathetic substitute for your true love.”

“Maybe Heathcliff did love Isabella in a way,” Ramsay muses. His stance is relaxed, mouth soft for once. “Maybe, if he’d seen her with another man, seen her guarded and defended like some precious thing he would’ve realized her true worth.” He tilts his head, ice blue eyes as warm as Theon has ever seen them. “Maybe he’d miss her smile.”

“Or rather,” Theon mutters, “he misses his submissive bitch. His possession to destroy at his leisure.”

“Of course you think like that.” Ramsay sighs deeply. “The things I did to you… I could never even begin to make it up to you.”

“Don’t try,” Theon tells him acidly. “There’s no use for this new charade of yours. I love Jon. I have everything I could ever want.”

“I see.” Ramsay’s eyes glaze over for a moment before he focuses his gaze on Theon again. “So,” he says, voice suddenly clipped and businesslike. “What’s the purpose of your visit then?”

“Father died.”

“Oh, my condolences. Another thing we have in common then.” Ramsay rolls his eyes when Theon glares at him. “Alright, alright. So, Balon kicked the bucket. You must be ecstatic. But, pardon me… Why are you coming here to tell me that?” He laughs, a little too loud. “Did he leave me something? You maybe?”

“Haha,” Theon mutters. “As it happens he left _me_ quite something.”

“Oh?” Ramsay’s eyes sparkle with a hint of curiosity. “And again I have to ask, why tell me that?”

“Because I’m fucking loaded now.” Theon takes a deep breath. “I want to buy the pub.”

Ramsay starts laughing. 

~

It is bizarre, this whole situation. They’re sitting in a rather large kitchen, at a weathered wooden table that looks at least two centuries old. Theon traces a long, ragged cut in the surface, idly wondering how old it is and who left it there. He thinks of the smaller table in the pub kitchen. Has Gilly left her own marks there? It doesn’t seem right to think of someone else sitting there and peeling potatoes while chatting warmly with whoever happens to be there. Then another thought crosses Theon’s mind, about that very same kitchen table, and he feels a pang of sadness. 

This has to work. 

Ramsay is lounging in his chair on the opposite side of the table, still chortling amusedly every couple of minutes. But apart from the obvious fun he’s having… He hasn’t done anything threatening, nor has he said mean or humiliating things. Very suspicious. But against all his better knowledge Theon can’t help but feel hopeful. Maybe this isn’t a lost cause. Maybe Ramsay will do this one good thing in his life. 

“Drink?” Ramsay asks into Theon’s musings. 

Theon nod-shrugs. He’ll play along for now, appease Ramsay as best as he can to pave the ground for a successful negotiation. Ramsay clinks with some glasses, then something sloshes and finally he returns to the table with two glasses of golden scotch shimmering in the light of the dim gas lamps still installed in the kitchen. Theon bows his head in thanks before lifting his glass to his lips - and pausing when he sees Ramsay’s look. As if he’s… eager for something. 

Horror dawning in him, Theon sets his glass down with a thud. Wouldn’t be the first time for Ramsay to slip something in his drink. The last time this had happened Theon had woken up over twenty-four hours later with the headache of a lifetime, no recollection whatsoever of what had gone down and overall very sore. Ramsay, noticing Theon’s apprehension, rolls his eyes and leans across the table to grab Theon’s glass. He drinks, throat working as he swallows, before sliding the glass back towards Theon. 

“It’s a thirty year old Glenfiddich,” he drawls. “Trust me, you don’t want to miss out on this one.”

“Trust you? Yeah, not very likely.” But since Ramsay shows absolutely no sign of wooziness or anything of the like Theon decides to have a little sip after all. And another. “Damn,” he finally says when he’s drained his whole glass. “Alright, I’ll give you that one. This is one goddamn fine whisky.”

“I bought some bottles when I last went north of the border. Nice country, especially around that place where you used to live.”

“Right, you were there,” Theon mumbles, trying not to peer over to where the bottle of Glenfiddich is standing at a counter. “Kyra mentioned it.”

“The cute one at the reception? She got all blushy when I asked for you.” Ramsay grins good-humoredly, getting up in a fluid motion only to return with the whisky bottle a moment later, filling Theon’s glass once more. “One of your teenage years conquests I gather?”

“Yeah, she was really into me.” Theon takes a long draw, the alcohol deliciously burning down his throat and lighting a little fire in his stomach. “Could barely get rid of her when I wanted to move on.” He grimaces. “Shouldn’t talk like that.”

“Why not?” Ramsay studies the glass he’s holding in his large hand, twirling the shimmering liquid around until Theon gets dizzy from watching. “You sound like yourself,” Ramsay continues, finally taking a sip. “Like you were when we met.”

“I was a right twat then.”

“True. Arrogant and obnoxious. And underneath all that…” Ramsay puts his glass down and turns his gaze on Theon, eyes burning. “So vulnerable. So soft.”

“You took… took advantage of that pretty qui-quickly,” Theon slurs, his tongue getting heavier and heavier. The whisky is strong and he hasn’t eaten since Gilly’s cake in the morning. A short look out of the window shows nothing but darkness and Theon wonders how late it is. “We should. The pub? Talk… talk about the pub? Jon’ll be wo-worried.”

“I’m sure lovely Jon will be fine. You’re an adult, aren’t you? Or do you have a curfew?”

“Not since y-you,” Theon hiccups. There are two Ramsays now, swimming into one another and shifting before his eyes. Both have a strange look on their faces, something Theon would almost call regret if it weren’t _Ramsay._

“I’m so sorry,” the Ramsays whisper, reaching out over the table and taking Theon’s hands. It feels wrong, but pulling back proves too much of an effort so Theon lets it happen, trying to focus on what else Ramsay is saying. “How can I ever make it up to you?”

He has to try. “Let me b-buy t’pub an’ never pes-pes- bother Jon again,” Theon mutters, fighting to keep his eyes open and failing. 

His hands are squeezed once, then Ramsay lets go. The silence stretches between them and Theon sways on his seat, trying to stay upright.

“Alright,” he hears Ramsay say. Theon blinks in disbelief. _What??_ “Alright,” Ramsay says again, “you can buy it. We’ll eventually learn to be good neighbours in a while, I am sure.” A sigh, the table rattles as Ramsay gets up. “I’ll take you home. Wouldn’t want you to get lost on the way.”

Theon nods in the rough direction of where Ramsay’s voice is coming from, not fighting it when two strong hands pull him to his feet. “Who’d… who’d’ve thought y’can be ssso nice,” he mumbles, heavily leaning against Ramsay’s strong frame. 

“Oh, you have no idea, love. How _nice_ I am going to be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe there are other factors as well. Maybe the death of the GoT fandom, the fact that everyone moved on and there's no one to talk about fic etc makes it harder. 
> 
> And maybe I'm afraid of what comes after. I really want to do that Massive Epic Sequel but. I can't. I can't even rewatch GoT at the time being, I'm still too sore from the last season. 
> 
> And then, will there even be people who'd want to read it? So many insecurities. Maybe I'll do a modern AU again until I'm ready.
> 
> Thanks to everyone still here, for your patience and time.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I'm honestly overwhelmed by your comments, guys. Each and every one of them is a treasure and I feel so humbled and grateful to have you all on this story with me. 
> 
> Are you ready for the last chapter?

The first thing that registers is his throat. It’s dry and sore, as if he’d been to a heavy metal concert last night. His mouth feels like sandpaper, the taste on his tongue is vile and disgusting. Theon tries to blink, wincing when he looks directly into a light over his head. He’s got no idea where he is, but the softness beneath Theon suggests it’s a bed. 

“Water,” he croaks to no one in particular, and flinches violently when _someone_ answers. 

“On the table next to you,” comes Jon’s voice from somewhere to the left and Theon cranes his neck to see him, cursing when a stab of pain hits him like a white-hot knife. “Careful,” Jon says, voice flat. “That’ll hurt a fucking long time. I hope.”

Theon lets his fingers wander to his neck where they graze over something soft. A bandage? Whatever it is the bandage covers, it really fucking hurts. Slowly Theon reaches out for the bottle of Highland Spring on the bedside table, drinking for a long while. Finally he’s drained it and puts it back, then turns his whole body to look at Jon. 

He’s standing at the window in the little attic room, his back turned on Theon. His posture is rigid, his hands angry fists at the windowsill. He’s obviously fucking mad at something. Theon swallows. Or someone. When he tries to sit up the room tilts and his stomach churns. Theon sways, pressing a hand against his mouth when a bucket appears before him and he’s violently sick. It seems to take an eternity until it stops. When it does, another water bottle is handed to Theon and he drinks greedily, thoroughly rinsing his mouth. 

“How much did you even drink, for fuck’s sake,” Jon mutters. He’s crouching next to the bed, still not looking at Theon. “I’ve never seen anyone so hungover.”

“Two fucking glasses,” Theon croaks. “Bet he _did_ slip something in, though I have no idea how he did it. _Fuck!!_ ”

“Honestly,” Jon says, voice dripping with contempt. “How bloody stupid are you, you fucking moron? You take a drink - _anything_ \- from Ramsay Bolton? Will you ever learn your fucking lesson?” He takes a deep breath, as if to calm himself, then gets up. “What do you remember?”

“He said he’d take me home,” Theon says, cautiously swinging his legs out of bed. The room is still unstable so he remains sitting. “And then I woke up.”

“Davos and I brought you home,” Jon says tonelessly. “He was at the castle early this morning to check on his boars. He…” Jon swallows visibly, mouth twitching. “He found you on the compost heap. Your… your clothes were torn and you were bleeding… fuck, Theon!”

Jon finally turns to look at him and Theon flinches back when he sees Jon’s eyes. They’re puffy and bloodshot, and desperate. 

“What…” Theon reaches for his neck again, fingers grazing the bandage. Underneath there’s a now dull pain, a constant working and throbbing in his flesh. “What is…”

“Bitemark,” Jon states. “And a fucking deep one at that. It’ll scar. You’ll have a nice reminder for your fucking idiocy right there for the rest of your life!”

“I’m so sorry,” Theon whispers, feeling helpless in the face of Jon’s anger, his apparent despair. “I really am stupid. I thought…” He exhales shakily, the notion seeming so dumb now. “I thought he really meant to be nice for once. That he meant it when he said he’s tired of his shit.”

“What did you even do up there?” Jon asks, wrapping his arms around himself. “What the everloving fuck did you think you were doing at Castle fucking Bolton? Placing yourself at the mercy of a man who fucking abused you - who forced himself on you, who _raped_ you–”

“Stop!” Theon cries out, chills running down his spine. “He didn’t, okay? Not… not this time.”

“Are you...” Jon shivers, abruptly turning away. “Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m fucking sure! Believe me I know what it feels like.”

“Gods.” Jon buries his face in his hands, shoulders trembling. “I thought you were… I thought he… you were gone for _twenty-four hours,_ Theon! I went looking for you. I searched the moors for half the night! It would never have crossed my mind you’d go there again, of all places. It was already beginning to dawn when I met Davos on his way down from the castle, and you…”

“I’m so so–” Theon tries to interject, but Jon isn’t finished. 

“Hanging from his shoulder like a bloody dead deer. And the fucking state you were in, jeans ripped and open and bleeding from your neck – he fucking _marked_ you. Why???” Jon swivels around, eyes swimming in tears, mouth twisted into a desperate frown. “ _Why did you go there?_ ”

“For you,” Theon says weakly. “I did it for you.”

Jon seems stunned by this revelation, eyes going wide and mouth hanging open, and Theon hurries to explain.

“My father, he left me his manor. It’s old and ugly and damp and in need of renovation but it’s still worth a fucking lot. I’m going to sell it.” Theon takes a deep breath. “And then I’m going to buy the pub for you. For us.” He smiles tentatively. “I wanted to buy our home for us.”

The silence between them stretches for what feels like hours until Jon clears his throat. 

“You didn’t say a single word about that. The inheritance thing. Why?”

“Seriously?” Theon shakes his head. “You’re one to talk. If I hadn’t accidentally overheard you talking to Gilly I’d still be completely clueless! Fuck…” He sighs. “I guess I had a hard time believing it myself the first half hour. And then when I was already out and about I thought… why not try. Why not just fucking try?”

“Behind my back.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Theon can’t believe his ears. “You do realize this is a good thing, yeah? We can stay! You’re not losing your home!” Slowly he starts to get angry. Jon doesn’t even seem to be happy! “Wasn’t that what you wanted?”

Jon balls his hands to fists, something like a growl escaping his mouth before he bites his lip hard enough it makes him wince. 

“Not like that. Not with you going there and making deals with a fucking psychopath who could’ve done god knows what to you. Did it ever occur to you for a _fucking second_ that I was _sitting at home waiting for you?”_

“Well–”

“SHUT IT!!” Jon is outright shouting by now, angrier than Theon has ever seen him. “I HAD NO IDEA WHERE YOU ARE AND YOU JUST SIT THERE AND TELL ME YOU DID IT FOR ME?”

“I–”

“ _You could’ve gotten lost on the moors! You could’ve been hit by a car! You could’ve–_ ” Jon stops, breathing heavily. “The last time I waited for someone they didn’t come home. Ever.”

Theon stares at Jon as if seeing him for the first time. The tears he seemed to be fighting are starting to flow down Jon’s face, he’s shaking like a leaf and Theon can’t bear it for one more second. He leaps to his feet, ignoring the dizziness as he wraps his arms around Jon’s stiff body, pressing his cheek against his hair. 

“I’m so sorry… ssshh, love, I’m here, okay? Nothing happened. I’m here. I’m so fucking sorry… It didn’t – I mean I wasn’t – I just didn’t think.”

“That’s kinda obvious,” Jon mutters, then finally he relaxes in Theon’s arms, nearly crushing him when he returns the embrace. “I love you. You can’t do that to me, you can’t – you’ve no idea how much I love you, you utter asshole.”

They stand like that for a long time, neither wanting to let go. Theon buries his nose in Jon’s hair, breathing deeply. He’s the worst. To go and not even think of what Jon has been through, what it means for him to wait for someone with no idea of their whereabouts… it was cruel. Thoughtless. 

“I’m so sorry. I promise I’ll never do this to you ever again. Hey? Love you too.”

At this Jon looks up, “How are you feeling?” His voice is strained, a weird edge to it. “Are you hurting? Are you okay?”

“Apart from this you mean?” Theon replies, gingerly fingering his neck again. “Yeah, I guess. Headache. My stomach seems to have calmed down.”

“Do you think... Fuck.” Jon closes his eyes, apparently struggling for words. “Are you able to – would you want to – now, I mean – could I–”

“Just spit it out,” Theon tells Jon, slightly alarmed when Jon shudders violently. “Could you what?”

“It’s not the right… inappropriate as fuck…” Jon looks right at Theon, biting down hard on his bottom lip. “I just… I just need you now. Not like… just…”

“Oh,” Theon says stupidly, taking a step back to search Jon’s face. This is unexpected. Just minutes ago Jon was ready to kill him. But he seems earnest, eyes pleading. “Are you sure?”

“Very,” Jon whispers and then his mouth is on Theon’s, making an answer impossible. 

It’s as if Jon has to make sure, see for himself that Theon is really there, really okay. His hands are everywhere, searching, stroking, touching every inch of skin they can reach. And Theon lets him, welcomes it. Turns out he needs it too. To show Jon that they’re fine, that he loves him. That they’re together. That Jon isn’t alone anymore. 

Later they lie in bed, with Theon’s head on Jon’s chest. Jon still seems restless, anxious. Theon places a kiss right above his heart, surprised when Jon groans as if in pain. 

“We can’t,” he finally says, and before Theon can ask what, Jon goes on. “We can’t stay here, Theon. He’ll always be around like some damned cloud we can’t get rid of. Always in his shadow, always on the watch when we go out. I wouldn’t have any peace of mind knowing he could always lie somewhere in waiting to hurt you again.”

“It won’t necessarily be like that,” Theon offers. “Maybe he’s done now. Maybe he’ll leave us alone. Maybe this was his last deed. I mean… he literally left me in the trash, you said. Couldn’t that mean it’s over?”

Jon doesn’t answer for a full minute before he sighs audibly. Carefully he prompts Theon off of his chest and leans over the side of the bed, rummaging in a drawer. When he straightens again he’s holding an envelope. 

“This came with today’s mail while you were sleeping it off.”

Theon takes it, cautious, as if it could explode any second. Jon’s name is written on the front in a wide, flowery handwriting. And inside… 

“What a fucking asshole,” Theon mumbles as he examines the contents. A sales contract for the pub, already filled out, only missing the signature of the buyer. A postcard of Castle Bolton, signed by the same hand as the envelope. _To being Good Neighbours!_ And a polaroid. An old one, Theon barely recognizes himself with the blond highlights he’d sported back then. But he recognizes his room on Pyke. His bed. And Ramsay, firmly covering Theon’s mouth with his large hand as Theon struggles to get a breath, sheer panic in his eyes. Ramsay is grinning. 

Beneath the pic is another scribble. 

_We’ll be friends just like we used to be. But don’t you worry, lovely Jon. We’ll invite you to play._

“See?” Jon says tiredly. “It’s never, _ever_ over.”

~

Theon watches Jon from the bar as he’s talking to Mayor Stannis and his daughter. He seems animated, gesticulating as he speaks, but beneath all that the sadness is palpable. It’s their last evening and they’ll leave for the North after the party. It had been Gilly’s idea, and although Jon hadn’t been a fan of it at first he’d come round. A proper send-off. And, Theon thinks as he pours the last of the gin into a glass for one of the Frey lot, a perfect way to get rid of all the alcohol. 

It’s really sad, but since Ramsay’s little stunt Theon can’t even smell whisky without his stomach churning. So he settles for another ale, together with the last one of Gilly’s pies. She’s given him the recipe but Theon knows he won’t make it. It wouldn’t be the same without Gilly’s company in the warm kitchen. At the moment she’s sitting at a table with Davos and Sam, but when she notices his look she gets up and comes over. 

“Are you okay?” she asks. 

“Yeah, I guess. Jon isn’t showing it but I caught him crying in the bathroom this morning.” Theon grins fondly. “I get it. I’ll miss this place too. And you guys.”

“Maybe I can persuade Sam to go North for a little holiday. Maybe in spring.”

“That’d be lovely,” Theon says, trying not to sound choked. “You’ll like it.”

~

He nearly has to drag Jon away from the door from where he watches Davos - the last of the guests - leave down the road, whistling a merry little song. Theon wraps his arms around Jon from behind, smiling when Jon puts his hands on Theon’s. 

“We have to get a move on,” Theon says after a moment. “And we have to get Loki into the carrier and that could take up to an hour. Are you ready?”

For a moment Jon says nothing, then he makes a strange little whimper. 

“No,” he chokes out before he twists in Theon’s arms. His eyes are overflowing, mouth wobbling and Theon laughs as he kisses his nose.

“Come on, Horseface. I know what we can do for a proper farewell.” When Jon frowns uncomprehendingly Theon grins. “There’s that lovely table in the kitchen, right? And I think I still owe you one for the olive oil incident.”

Jon sniffles, but he can’t hide the smile slowly creeping onto his lips. 

“Twatwaffle,” he says, and kisses Theon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a little sorry I didn't give Jon a shining-hero-moment - but he's done enough of that shit in canon and idk I think he needs a break lol
> 
> Well, then... let's say goodbye to Thornby and the pub. Go read the epilogue! :D


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are. 
> 
> Again, thank you so mich for reading and commenting and engaging and just being there. 
> 
> The biggest thanks go to @half_life - forever encouraging and wonderful and the bestest beta ever. Yes, bestest.

_ I know, I know, I’m a bad diary writer! Mea culpa maxima! Haven’t had a chance to write anything since we left Thornby. Well, no, that’s not strictly true. I did have time, but I completely lacked the energy. Was pretty emotional for a while. Very dark moods and all that. Theon was great. Instead of going to the Starks immediately he took me to a B&B at the coast and took care of me. I really was a mess. Did take a lot more out of me than I thought, leaving my pub behind.  _

_ It got better, but it took me nearly two weeks. Theon was an angel, endless patience. He really must love me. I know I love him very much.  _

_ Then the coming home part. It was amazing to see all of them again, but also sad and exhausting. My little cousins, not so little anymore. Sansa was a shock, pregnant with twins and a husband half her size but I grew to like Tyrion a lot. His heart is in the right place. Arya and her thrall - I mean boyfriend - are a blast. She’s got him wrapped around her fingers. Bran, weird as ever, with his long-suffering girlfriend. It was so good to see them all again. Rickon was the worst I think. When I left he was a boy of seven, now… It hurts, how much I missed.  _

_ Cat didn’t say much. We will never be the best of friends but she did pull me into a hug that felt like coming home. Theon swears on Loki’s life she had tears in her eyes but that sounds like his usual bullshit. Robb was the one who cried the most, I swear. Not me. I saved that for the meeting with Tormund. Holy shit, I thought I’d simply dissolve. There’s something about this loud, hairy bastard that’s so genuine… I went to the meeting an anxious mess, ready to be chewed out for being such an asshole - instead he just wrapped me in one of his bear hugs and I completely lost it. Wailed like a banshee while he murmured consoling nonsense in my ear.  _

_ We visited Ygritte’s grave together. I wanted to go alone at first, at least for the first time, even told Theon to stay away. But with Tormund it wasn’t a hard decision. She meant a lot to him as well. So that’s what we did and I promptly lost it again. My love and my child, in the fucking ground and not with me… It took me a while to remember that it’s just their bodies down there, not their souls. Not them. They’re with me. I’ve been to the grave every week since then. It feels good to have a place to go. It feels like healing. I go mostly alone, but sometimes Theon comes with me. The first time the bastard actually sent me away, said he had some things to talk about with Ygritte. He sat there for nearly half an hour and still won’t tell me what he said to her.  _

_ And so one day after the other went by and I was so busy getting acquainted again with my family and learning to be a part of them, with looking for jobs and a place of our own, and just being with Theon, without any threat hanging over us like a dark cloud. It was a good time. Challenging. Exciting.  _

_ But today I felt the need to write. And what a day! First all the hassle with Sansa’s twins coming a month too soon (they do look like their mother a lot, thank fuck, says Tyrion) and then Theon got the call about an awesome apartment being up for a showing and couldn’t leave work so I had to hurry across town like a madman to be there in time to get our names in the hat. And it didn’t even pay off! Didn’t get it. Don’t know how to tell Theon - and Robb. Boy, he would be glad to have his flat to himself again, especially now that things with Jeyne are working out so well.  _

_ I like her a lot. She’s sweet, very smart and seems to love Robb with all her heart. He deserves as much. My poor Theon still acts all twitchy around her, doesn’t even look her in the face most of the time. Robb has a lot more fun than he ought to with playing the jealous boyfriend and laughing his arse off behind Theon’s back when he’s succeeded in making him apologize for the trillionth time for Roslin-gate.  _

_ Other than that they are just as they were before. I can hardly stand being around them when they start their insider jokes and guffaw and bellow like drunk baboons. At least I know a way to stop that nowadays. All it needs is a little lip-biting and butt-wriggling and suddenly Theon is all tired and can’t go to bed early enough. Another reason why Robb would be glad to have us gone. I honestly had no idea I was this loud until Robb presented me with an audio he had recorded the other night. Embarrassing, but what can I say. He’s good, my boyfriend. _

_ It’s still like in the beginning. I don’t think my sex drive has fizzled out or become less or anything. And thank god Theon is all too happy to oblige. Just this morning he braved the early hour before going to work to fuck me into oblivion, the darling. He knows how much I love feeling him all day. I think _

_ Phone rang. Oh my god. You won’t believe this. It was Sam, from Thornby. I’m shaking. Apparently Lord Bolton had a tragic accident. Fell into his wild boar enclosure drunk as hell and. Well. Pigs. They. Alright. They fucking  _ ate _ him. Like, all of him. He’s dead. Ramsay fucking Bolton is dead. I’m. Oh god. I need to lie down.  _

_ Okay. I think I’m able to call Sam back now. Hung up on him pretty abruptly I fear. But hearing that fucking name brought all of it back to the surface, all of the shit he did to Theon and would have done if it hadn’t been for our friends. Speaking of them, I do wonder if Davos… He always liked those boars a lot, but. Nah. He wouldn’t. That’d be... I need to call Sam.  _

_ Wow. Just, wow. So it’s true. Happened a few nights ago and in the morning all they found was some of his clothes and one shoe with a foot still attached. Ugh. Poor pigs. Sam said nobody in the village seems overly sad. The new owner of Castle Bolton is rumoured to be Roose’s estranged wife, Lady Walda Bolton. Sam says people liked her well enough when she was still living with Roose. She went away after her baby died, before I came to Thornby. I can somewhat imagine what she must’ve gone through, the poor woman.  _

_ But now comes the biggest news. Sam said he’ll send me the link once he gets the internet to run, but… it seems Lady Walda intends to sell a certain pub in Thornby.  _

_ *** _

 

_ THE END _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it TT_TT
> 
> Another happy end for those two! 
> 
> Would as always love to hear your thoughts :)
> 
> I'm not sure what'll happen next. Maybe another modern au with fun and smut and angst and fluff. Maybe I'll start on a Christmas Story to get it done in time. 
> 
> In the meanwhile I want to keep writing. Little things, or medium things like the Sugar Daddy Au to have inbetween while working on a longer thing. If you have anything you want to see, any prompts, just drop me a line here in the comments or on tumblr (owlsinathens)
> 
> Hugs to you all!!

**Author's Note:**

> The same procedure as every time: Please tell me what you think! *_*
> 
> I survive solely on a combination of AO3 comments and GoT memes.


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